


The Winter Army

by gaudior



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Aftermath of Violence, Assassination, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dubious Consent, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Anti-Semitism, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multiple Personalities, Murder, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Recovery, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Trauma, Violence, anti-Semitism, mostly hurt this time i'm afraid, resilience though, the resilience is the point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 62,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6118774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaudior/pseuds/gaudior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier's not sure why he's hearing voices in his head.  Or why they seem so upset about the target.</p><p>He thinks he might be able to use them, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Sovay](http://sovay.dreamwidth.org/) and [Echo Boots](http://echoboots.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing and research help!

Strangely enough, it was the cops who took the Winter Soldier down in the end.  He killed eighteen of them, but eventually they managed to pump him so full of bullets he just couldn’t keep moving.

After that was the Asset’s turn.  This was the Asset’s home territory-- waking surrounded by figures in masks and anonymizing monochrome coats, bolted down to a bed, surrounded by loud, urgent voices, bleeding and cut open.  Familiar, even though the beeping of machines was in a different register, the sharp voices all in English, the smell in the air more of cleaning solution than of cryofluid and gunpowder.  It endured, as it always did, the cutting and cleansing, the injections of solutions that dulled its reflexes and its senses.  

Not dull enough to keep the body from burning, of course, spasming with pain.  But then, the body was always hurting somewhere.  The rest of them ignored it, as they always did. 

Otherwise, things were strangely quiet.  It took the Sergeant some amount of time ( _ 3 hours 14 minutes 12 seconds,  _ murmured one of them subtle enough that he’d never spotted them) to realize why-- Jimmy, for once, wasn’t screaming.  Or crying, or even whining.  He didn’t seem to be asleep, though-- Jimmy was listening to the voices around them, recognizing the English words, quiet.  Odd, but not something that was going to put them in danger, so not the Sergeant’s problem.  The Sergeant settled back, on watch, waiting. None of the rest of them could do anything as long as they were tied down to the bed, and none of the rest of them would  _ want  _ anything to do with what was happening now, so he let the Asset handle it.   _ Poor bastard.   _ The Asset made no response, but then, what would he say if it did?

Eventually, the cutting and stitching stopped.  Soft wiping replaced the piercing, and the rasp of bandages covered the wounds.  The gas-dispensing mask was removed from the Asset’s face, and the numbing agents started to work their way out of its system.  The Winter Soldier slipped forward again to assess the situation: attached to monitors beeping with his heartbeat.  Disabling bullet wounds to all three flesh limbs, and the metal arm was unresponsive.  Further wounds to his chest and abdomen, all of them repaired, but the body reported a level of pain which suggested significant damage; possibly resulting in returning unconsciousness if strained.  Metal cuffs around his wrists and ankles which subtle tensing of muscles showed would take at least 800 pounds of force to break, probably causing further internal damage.  Plus, though there were no agents within the room, the combination of the monitors and the two guards he could hear breathing outside the door meant that he wouldn’t have much time to struggle with the restraints before they summoned back-up. Better to wait; in four hours, he’d be in condition to take those two outside the door, and that would be a start.  The Soldier turned his attention to listening for as much information as he could while he waited.

He’d gotten a sense of the pattern of footsteps and voices, identified this as a public hospital.  Not one in an emergency-- most of the footsteps were unhurried, calm, tired.  Good: people who were less alert were easier to blindside and escape.  He’d already heard enough to be sure that he wasn’t on a base, which meant that his first priority was to return to one. To report his mission… the Soldier hesitated, surprised and dismayed to find a gap in his memory.  The mission parameters were clear, of course-- eliminate target “Captain America,” and associated targets, return to base.  His efforts had been unsuccessful.  There had been some sort of… gap.  There was a gap in his memory.

The Soldier began a more thorough review of the mission, starting with the first briefing, and was so focused on it that he almost missed the door of the room opening.  His eyes slitted open just enough to get a basic view of the intruders while still credibly feigning unconsciousness, no point giving up any possible tactical advantage too early.  Three people, one an unarmed dark-skinned woman in a long white coat, one a short, red-haired white woman in black, heavily though subtly armed,  one a tall, bulky white man, wearing a garishly bright combat suit, no weapons except a shield--

The Sergeant tried, but he was caught way the hell off guard.  You couldn’t blame him-- when’s the last time  _ three  _ of them tried to act at once?  He caught Jimmy and Bucky, but just wasn’t fast enough to stop Buck from surging forward, snapping the eyes open, and rasping, voice rough,  _ “Steve!” _

“Bucky?”  Steve rushed to his side.  He looked all right, Buck thought-- eating well, still ridiculously super-soldier musclebound, a lot better than the last time he’d seen him ( _ last time but three  _ came a thought too quiet and odd for him to pay attention to it), shiny new Cap-ing uniform bright and clean and untorn.  More important, though, his face-- he was  _ so  _ happy, so relieved.  Tears in his eyes, smile wide and glorious and disbelieving.  “Bucky-- you remember me!”

Bucky shoved forward past Buck to laugh at him, because what kind of nonsense was that?  “Remember how to spell my name, too, Rogers.   _ And  _ what two and two add up to.”  He glanced around: hospital room, nurses, a lot of machines, some of them glowing oddly, and… he looked down, surprised by a tug at his wrist.  “Do  _ not  _ remember why I’m chained to the bed-- what the hell?”

Steve’s expression went guarded.  “What… Bucky, what’s the last thing you remember?”

He sounds scared, Buck thought.  Scared, and trying not to be, so as not to scare anyone else, which means he thinks it’s  _ really  _ bad.  Felt his own nervousness, and an impulse to joke their way out of it, but Buck pushed it back almost without thinking about it: he was in a hospital.  Steve looked scared, so this was serious, but there’d be help here if he asked… “We were in Austria, on the way to take Zola’s train.”  He remembered putting his hands around the zip-line bar, and nothing after that… “Did we get taken down?”

“...yes,” Steve said.

And then  _ stopped,  _ as if he thought Buck was going to be satisfied with an obvious half-answer like that.  Not even half an answer, there was  _ way  _ more of a story here than that, if Steve’s averted eyes and ducked face were anything to go on.  “Bad?”

Steve opened his mouth, shut it.  “There’s a lot to talk about, Buck…”

“No kidding?” This was  _ too  _ weird, Bucky wasn’t accepting being shoved back, and there was a brief struggle for who got to be in front.  

The Sergeant took the opportunity to grab Buck by the scruff of his neck and drag him back.  He’d spent uncountable years  _ (73 years, 4 months, 2 weeks, 5 days, 18 hours…)  _ keeping Buck safe from precisely this story, like hell he was going to let him get blindsided by it now, when they weren’t even sure where they were, or what was going on… 

Except that that left a blank space out front, where Steve was watching them with growing concern, and Natasha Romanov had that empty look that spies get when they’re about to do something non-spies won’t like.  The Sergeant reviewed his troops and swore briefly, because none of them would actually be any damn good in this situation.  He stepped in front himself, not liking how being aware of the world around them kept him from having as much attention to pay to the world within.  “Okay,” he said, the sound of  _ his  _ voice in the mouth, in the ears, strange and distracting.  “Fine, we don’t have to talk about it now.  But where the hell  _ are  _ we?”              

“We’re in New Jersey,” Steve said.  Right, of course they were, because that’s what ended up happening when the Soldier kept trying to go back to a base and Jimmy kept crying to go home and the Sergeant had to manage  _ these  _ chuckleheads in 21st century America without a home or identity or source of supplies.  “You’re in the East Orange VA Medical Center.”

“You’re hurt badly,” the doctor put in (Patrisse Bell, according to her badge), “but none of your injuries are life-threatening.”     

“I’m tied up,” the Sergeant pointed out.  Which was sound strategy for Rogers and Romanov to take, but upsetting every one of them, each for their own different reasons.  Steve frowned, looking just as torn as they were ( _ yeah, that’d be a trick,  _ Bucky pointed out).  

Romanov stepped forward and spoke in Russian: “<Asset, complete your mission.>”

The Soldier lunged forward, blowing the Sergeant back and shifting their weight fast and hard to flip the bed over.  The heavy metal rails caught Rogers off-guard, he didn’t move back quickly enough to avoid the side of the bed slamming down on his ankle.  The ankle  _ cracked,  _ and even an enhanced human couldn’t move quickly with 600 pounds of metal and mattress on him.  The Soldier was still tied down, but the rails on the sides of the bed were adjustable, and it didn’t take that much effort to snap through the locks holding them in position.  His left arm still wasn’t responding, deadweight and heavy, but that was underneath him, anyway-- his right arm was free, and had the bed-rail for a weapon.  He gripped it, slammed it into Rogers’ side, heard ribs break and a cry of pain.  Kept hitting, aiming to drive broken ribs into his organs, and Rogers wasn’t dodging, just staring at him, and

_ Steve!  _ came shouts from a lot of voices, and the Sergeant grabbed the Soldier,  _ hard,  _ trying to pull him back.  Tough to do with adrenaline pumping, tough to do with the command echoing in their head, tough to do when they were tied down and everyone was trying not to panic about it.  The Soldier kept striking, but there was a sharp prick in the foot, Romanov darting forward to shoot them with a tranquilizer gun, shielded by the bedframe and mattress.  She kept shooting, and he turned from Rogers to block her darts-- managed two, not the third, and then Rogers had grabbed his free arm and was holding it down.   _ Trapped trapped trapped  _ the Asset’s subroutines whimpered, and Romanov shot them again, the tranquilizer starting to take effect-- the Soldier’s movements were slowed, limbs heavy and hard to control.  The Sergeant  _ heaved,  _ pulling the Soldier back so hard that they were all lost in a moment of confusion.  

Jimmy stumbled to the front, looked Steve in the face, and burst into tears.  He was so scared, and hurt, and Steve was hurt and upset and looked like he was going to start crying from all kinds of pain, and it was so confusing and he wanted to go home, he just wanted to go home, why couldn’t he just go  _ home? _

  
He couldn’t. But he could fall asleep, and take them all with them.  So he did.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I've tried to be as respectful as I can, but this is not a perfectly accurate portrayal of Dissociative Identity Disorder. Partly because no two multiple systems are exactly alike, mostly because most multiple personalities are not caused by decades of being tortured and brainwashed by HYDRA. For less comic-book descriptions, try some of these sources:
> 
> http://adviceformultiples.tumblr.com/post/95317278038/plurality-faq
> 
> http://www.webmd.com/mental-health/dissociative-identity-disorder-multiple-personality-disorder#2
> 
> http://healthymultiplicity.com/
> 
>  
> 
> *Just so no-one's waiting for it: my headcanon is that Maria and Howard Stark were killed by a small, nondescript HYDRA agent who snuck into their garage, sabotaged their car, and left without anyone noticing. After all, what's the point of being a huge far-reaching organization with tentacles everywhere if you have to send your top assassin to do everything?


	2. Chapter 2

They woke slowly.  The Soldier, the Asset, and the Sergeant took their time to get a sense of their surroundings.  Not restrained, not many reports of pain from the body, no sound of anyone breathing or moving in the room.  The Sergeant signaled for the Soldier to take the front, which he did without comment.

Slitting the eyes open showed a room dimly lit by sunlight through curtains.  He was lying on a bed, unrestrained, head and side of the bed touching the walls.  The room was about four meters in each direction, and looked civilian rather than military--  bedroom furniture, not equipment or monitors.   The furniture was lightweight plastic, wicker, cloth-- not great for weapons, but not useless.  An open door led into another room, where he could see a couch and two more doors, one closed, the other open but not at an angle that let him see the room beyond.  Overhead light, unfortunately, no lamps he could use for parts.  Windows across from him, closed and sealed.  Security camera in the top corner above the door, with a good vantage on him wherever he went in the room.  That was almost a relief-- at least it made more sense than the rest. 

He lay still for a while, listening and cataloguing the room, until he was sure it was uninhabited.  Inventoried himself-- no weapons, seemed to be wearing soft sweatpants and t-shirt, barefoot, unremarkable underwear.  The left arm was still not functioning, but the wounds seemed significantly healed-- any pain caused by movement would be irrelevant.  Having ascertained that, he rolled from bed onto the floor in a low crouch, lifting his head just enough to look through the crack between the blind and the wall.  The sliver of window showed him city buildings from far above-- New York, he recognized from briefings.  Midtown Manhattan.  The height off the ground implied he was in one of the tallest buildings-- World Trade Center, Stark Tower, Empire State, Bank of America Tower, maybe.  He’d look out the windows more carefully once he had a better sense of his surroundings. 

The rest of the room was equally nondescript, nothing that he couldn’t see from the bed.  He ducked into the room next door, found it similar: couch, chairs, table, all flimsy furniture difficult to make into weapons.  Two security cameras in here, both small enough that a civilian might not notice them.  One wall contained a screen, but it was hidden behind a sheet of StarkGlass-- touch-sensitive, but it would take more than 5000 pounds of force to shatter it, which would be difficult to summon without the left arm working, without boots.  The windows in this room had open blinds, letting in afternoon sunlight, slightly tinted-- possibly one-way glass or otherwise treated.  He rapped gently on the window, which sounded like coated polycarbonate-- also probably beyond his current means to break.  The table held several packages wrapped in white paper, some apples, and several plastic bottles of water.  The wrapped packages showed no signs of triggers or traps, and the top one revealed a sandwich. 

The room beyond was a bathroom--large tub, with jets.  Mirror was again polycarbonate, and flush with the wall, difficult to pry out.  Soft, absorbent towels, little else he could use-- fixtures either plastic or beyond his ability to break.  Toothbrush on the sink in a little plastic packet; unused, and could probably be sharpened into a small, brittle knife with time.  The door locked from the inside.  Now that he took time to attend to it, so did the bedroom door.  Odd.  

The closed door also locked from the inside, so he was able to open it. Unfortunately, it faced a second door which locked from the outside-- in fact, it had no handle on his side.  He could find no purchase on the door itself; the cracks around and under it were too thin for him to fit fingers into.  He’d need tools he didn’t have to get out of it.

The Soldier stepped back, thinking.  He had a strong impulse to close and lock the door that he did control, but he knew better than to listen unthinkingly to impulses.  (The Sergeant sighed, and tried to quiet down the Asset’s subroutines who were whimpering with the craving for safety, for any barrier they could possibly get between them and  _ paindanger _ .)  He still didn’t know where he was, who was holding him, what they might be making of his actions.  He took care not to look directly at or away from the cameras, to avoid showing he was aware of their presence.  He settled into one of the chairs in the second room, his back to a wall, windows and doors in easy peripheral view, to evaluate the situation. 

He could hear distant sounds-- motors, fans, the other hums that come in an inhabited building.  Voices were too distant to be distinguishable from the background sounds; traffic sounds too far away and too muffled to be audible.  After waiting a cautious interval to see whether his waking had summoned anyone, he went to the window for a better look outside.  

When he looked more carefully, he was able to identify the silhouette of the buildings on the surrounding cityscape, and sight off Central Park in the distance and Park Avenue below—this was Stark Tower.  His last briefing  identified it as the base for Rogers’ super-powered allies, all of whom were credible opponents for him, and likely to interfere with his mission should Rogers get this far.  His own location, as well as the events in the hospital, suggested he was held prisoner here. 

The Winter Soldier considered the implications.  His first priority was generally his secrecy, followed by his mission, followed by the importance of preserving HYDRA’s asset.  If he got stuck somewhere, they could send an extraction team to get him out, if they needed him.  Or not--  _ when one head is cut off, two more rise to take its place _ , he recited mentally with the satisfaction of having a greater cause to fight for.  So: he’d been brought into the home of Rogers’ allies.  The odds of Rogers remaining here were high, and the odds of him being off-guard in his own home-base higher.  All the Soldier would need to do would be escape, figure out where in the building Rogers was, ideally get some weapons and repair the left arm.  Not necessarily in that order; maneuvers would go better after dark, when Rogers was more likely to be asleep.  If his captors were idiots (never a safe assumption, but he knew better than not to allow for the possibility in his calculations) the security cameras wouldn’t even have infrared, and his movements might be unobserved then. 

So: he would wait.  He considered the sandwiches, calculated odds that they were drugged versus his own hunger and the odds of it getting in his way.  The hunger level was unfortunately high, the inevitable result of rapid healing following his previous injuries.  However, Stark Tower would have more than enough resources to administer drugs via another method if he rejected this one, and in ways that he would have less control over.  Still, he brought a bottle of water to the bathroom, where he emptied it, rinsed it, and filled it with tap water.  He then returned to the table, took the bottom sandwich, and returned to the chair with the good visibility.  He ate at a moderate pace, ideal for digestion and dealing with sudden interruptions.

( _ Corned beef! _ Jimmy cried, surprised and delighted.   _ It’s just right! _ )   The Soldier continued to eat and drink, not varying his pace, though the mouth seemed to be smiling around the food.  Not ideal, if he had anyone around to intimidate, but since he didn’t, there was no need to waste energy on controlling it. 

Upon finishing, the Soldier turned his attention to subtly trying to flex the left arm.  It was hidden behind his body from one camera, and mostly hidden by the bathroom door by the other, but it would be foolish to assume that the only cameras here were visible.  The arm remained unresponsive to conscious thought.  Possibly some of the neural connections had been damaged, as mechanical damage to any one part of it shouldn’t have knocked the entire thing out of commission.  Unless the power source itself had been damaged. 

He considered.  Right now, the arm was dead weight.  He’d move faster without it, be better able to climb through ducts or up the building should he need to.  Too, the arm’s components would be a valuable source of metal parts; sharp and strong enough to make real weapons, already designed for that purpose and needing minimal modification.  On the other hand, detaching the arm risked losing it; either letting it fall into enemy hands, or simply not being able to replace it.  The previous models of the arm were probably in storage somewhere for his handlers and technicians to work with, so assuming he got back to base, he wouldn’t be without it forever.  The technology involved was, as far as he knew, cutting-edge, but not unique.  He’d have to be aware of how his balance would be thrown off by the missing weight, but the benefits should outweigh the disadvantages.

Again, he weighed the possibilities: would waiting for nightfall and keeping his reduced handicap secret outweigh the difficulty of working with the arm in the dark?  Not enough.  He stood, lifted the left arm with his right and laid it on the table to give him access to the release-catch in the underarm.  The mechanisms inside it clunked—automatic release wasn’t working better than any of the rest of it, but he could manage the manual release one-handed.  The arm thunked onto the table, leaving dents and scratches in the soft plastic.  The Soldier began the careful, meticulous job of breaking it down for parts.  

Time passed.  ( _ 56 minutes, 43 seconds. _ )  The Soldier stayed alert to his surroundings, but the ongoing absence of stimuli allowed him to concentrate fully on his task; and the task was at least as much rote physical action as it was a matter of memory or strategy. 

_ Um,  _ Buck said,  _ hello? _

Buck wasn’t sure where he was.  He watched his own hand—he thought it was his hand, the perspective was right—working with a real mechanical arm that looked like something out of  _ Amazing Stories _ .  He wasn’t doing that, but he could sort of feel some part of his mind knowing what to do, and doing it.  Like watching your feet move on a long march; you might be thinking about giving up and just lying down in the dirt, but your feet keep going, one after another until you’re done.

But you  _ could  _ stop yourself when you were marching, you just didn’t.  Buck focused on his hand, trying to move it to the right.

_ Whoa, Buck,  _ said a voice.  In his head.   _ What’re you doing? _

He really wanted to look around, but he couldn’t.  He knew the voice was in his head, anyway.  “I’m try _ ing to move my damn hand,  _ he said ( _ The Soldier snapped his lips shut-- he knew better than to make accidental noises.) _ _ What’s happening to me?  What’s going on? _

_ Take it easy, pal,  _ the voice said in his head.   _ We’re safe enough for the moment-- relax. _

_ Easy for you to say,  _ Buck countered,  _ you’re not the guy with the possessed hand.  And hearing voices in his head. _

Buck got the impression of an unimpressed frown.   _ Those things ain’t hurting you, are they?  Will you for Chrissakes’ relax and go back to sleep?  The whole bunch of you, you’re more trouble than you’re worth.   _

_ Well, sor-ry,  _ Buck said,  _ but I’m not going anywhere until I get some damn answers.  Who are you?  Why can’t I move?  Where am I?  Where’s Steve?   _ He watched his hand continue to take apart futuristic metal joints, moving easily and smoothly.   _ Am I dreaming?  Am I crazy?   _

_You are NOT crazy,_ the voice snapped.   _I’ve spent seventy years working my tail off to keep you from going crazy, like hell I’m losing that NOW_.   _You’re back in New York, so is Steve, I’m your Sergeant, and I am ordering_ _you to go back to sleep!_

_ You missed one,  _ Buck said.   _ Why can’t I move?   _

Buck got an impression of foot-shuffling.   _ Aww, whaddya wanna move for?  You got everything you need here-- you’re fed, clean, rested, barely hurt-- ain’t that enough?   _

_ Fuck you _ , Buck snapped,  _ what the  _ hell is going on? _ ” _  and slammed down his hand on the table.  The metal pieces scattered and fell with  _ plonks  _ into the soft carpet.

Buck stood up slowly, looked around.  Someplace foreign-- why’d he think he was in New York?  he’d never seen furniture like this before.  Looked like an apartment-- rich one, too, private bathroom and everything.  He marched up to the front door, opened it to find  _ another  _ door, metal or something.  He couldn’t find a knob or a latch, and it didn't move when he kicked it.  “This ain’t funny,” he muttered, and banged on the door.  “Hey!  Hello?  I’m stuck in here!  Anyone?”

“Can I help you, Sergeant?” someone asked.  He sounded like a Brit, and he must be pretty loud if Buck could hear him this well through the door.

“I’m stuck in here,” Buck called.  “There’s no handle on this side of the door.  Can you let me out?”

“My apologies,” the Brit said, “I’m afraid I can’t.  Is there anything else you’d like?”

“Well, it won’t do me much good out there,” Buck pointed out, then reconsidered.  “Wait-- do you know Steve Rogers?  Blond guy,” and how funny, he couldn’t say what else Steve looked like, two different descriptions tangling on his tongue and tripping him up.

“Of course,” the Brit said.  “Would you like to speak with Captain Rogers?”

Captain, of course.  The description resolved itself, “blond guy, big as a barn.”  “Yes!” Buck said.  It felt like forever since he’d seen Steve.  Couldn’t be really, but all this sure was strange enough to make a guy want his buddy.  

“I’ll let him know right away,” the Brit said.  Buck didn’t hear his footsteps walking away.  Buck sighed, more relieved than he’d thought he’d

the Soldier slammed forward.  Hard to figure out what just happened-- old briefings resurfacing, maybe?  but it definitely threw a wrench into his plans.  Rogers was on his way here  _ now,  _ alert, aware, on-guard, with the Soldier still stuck in a locked suite of rooms.  The arm was in the worst possible state; too far disassembled for him to put it back on and bring with him, but nowhere near effective use as weapons or tools.  This was not optimal.

He darted to the table, scanning the pieces: the forearm struts were solid bars, heavy, strong enough for significant impact.  And the partly-disassembled joint at the end had sharp edges, good enough for a mace.  There was space behind the doubled outside door, he’d have some cover when Rogers entered.  Scattering the parts of the arm in the entryway and across the room should provide a delaying distraction.  He retired to his vantage point, gripped the strut, silenced his breathing, listened for sounds in the distance-- and was shocked by the electronic hum  _ inside  _ the room of the screen activating.  An image of Rogers projected on the wall, looking vulnerable and uncertain, but not physically present enough for it to do any good.  “Bucky?” Rogers said confoundingly, and the Soldier didn’t have a plan for this contingency

so he wasn’t the one in front.  “Present and accounted for,” Bucky called, rising out of a crouch and sauntering over to Steve.  Or to the movie of Steve, anyway.  Dumb to think a movie could hear him, but it wasn’t like there was anyone here to see.

Except it seemed he was wrong about that, because movie-Steve was staring right at him.  “Oh thank God,” movie-Steve said, tearing up like an enormous sap.  “Are you-- how are you?”

“Can’t complain,” Bucky said, swinging the-- why was he holding a metal bar?  No need to let on that he didn’t know, though-- he put the bar casually on a table full of other machine parts, and looked up close at movie-Steve.  He didn’t cast a projector shadow, so it must not be a movie after all-- a window?  He could hear Steve pretty clearly through it.  Bucky rapped on the glass experimentally, and part of the window moved-- a big white box appeared inside the glass, with words inside it: “End Call, Audio, Chat.”  He startled, played it as deliberate.  “What the hell is this?”

“It’s a video-screen,” Steve said.  “Like a telephone, but with movies, not just sound.”  

“Fancy,” Bucky said.  “Is this one of Stark’s things?”

There was a stifled noise from off-screen-- some other guy in the room with Steve, given Steve’s frown in a direction over Bucky’s shoulder.  “That’s kind of a complicated question,” Steve said.  “Bucky-- do you know what year it is?”

What kind of a nutjob would he have to be to not know that?  “1914,” he said, then heard himself.  “I mean 1945.  The hell, guess I need more sleep.”  Dammit, what the hell was wrong with him?  “Why the twenty questions?”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, looked away.  “Okay, this is gonna be hard to believe, but-- Buck, it’s actually 2014.”  

_ (What?  _ Buck said.  The Sergeant sighed deeply.)

“Huh,” Bucky said.  “Seriously?”  Steve nodded.  “How’d that happen?”

“I said it was complicated…” Steve said.  “And it’s--”  He paused, looked down, looked alarmed.  “What happened to your arm?”

Bucky looked down.  His right arm was fine.  His left arm was gone.  “Huh,” he said again.  “Well, that’s weird.”

_ (My arm!  _  Jimmy cried.    _ It’s gone!  Oh my God, my arm is gone! _

_ (For fuck’s sake,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ This again?   _

_ (Hey, lay off him,  _ Buck said, stepping between them even before he quite knew who ‘they’ were or what ‘stepping between them’ meant.   _ You can’t blame a guy for being upset about something like that.   _

_ (Not if he keeps it to himself,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ Which is his ONLY job, so you’d think he could manage it a little better than to distract me when that jerk’s out front.   _

_ (That jerk?  _ Buck asked, his attention distracted from the… internal conversation?  But when he glanced up, paid attention to what he was looking at, he lost track of anything else.  “Steve!”

Steve frowned slightly, the alert, Captain-keeping-track-of-variables frown.  “Yeah?”

Buck reached out toward him  _ (I couldn’t get to him, I let him down, no),  _ found his hand pressed against a big white rectangle.  A voice from somewhere behind Steve said quietly, “Jarvis, turn off the touch-screen function, would you?”

“Certainly, sir,” said the Brit, and the white rectangle disappeared.  

Buck really didn’t care.  Steve was right there in front of him, hale and hearty, and why did he think he wouldn’t be?  Why did he remember Steve bloody, staring up at him, fists breaking his face-- “You’re okay!”

“Sure I am,” Steve said, sounding like he was trying to give the reassurance he needed himself.  “I’m fine, Buck.  How are you?”

“Glad to see you,” Buck said, honestly.  “Man oh man, Steve, this place is weird.”  

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Steve muttered.  

But he still looked worried.  Why was Steve looking worried?  “Why are you talking through this thing?” Buck asked.  “Where are you?”  

“Steve...” a woman’s voice said, a quiet warning.  

Steve looked pained.  “I’m right here,” he said.  “I’m in the same building as you are; I’m not going anywhere.”   _ (The Soldier cursed, but given the angle of the light in the room, maybe he could at least determine which side of the building Rogers was on?)   _ “What do you remember?”

“This room,” Buck said.  “Waking up here, and… I’m hearing voices in my head.”

Steve looked intent.  “What are they saying?”

_ (GodDAMNit,  _ the Sergeant complained, and grabbed Buck by the back of his collar.  And then, for lack of anyone better, shoved the Asset out front.  It might not be able to do much, but at least it wouldn’t make any more trouble.  That should at least give him a chance to think this mess through.  

Except that instead of doing its job, and standing there silently, the Asset was looking at the screen.  And not the blind, thousand-yard stare it usually had, not completely-- its eyes were focusing.  “I know you,” the Asset said.  “I remember you.”

The man on the screen didn’t look angry.  He swallowed.  “I’m Steve,” he said.  “I’m your friend.”

Memories were continuing to go past.  “The man on the bridge,” the Asset said.   _ (Subroutines tensed, knowing that when they talk about this, they get hit.)   _

“What?” the man said.  “Bucky, I-- Bucky?”

That wasn’t a command the Asset recognized.  It waited for commands.  

“Bucky?” the man from the bridge said again.  “Talk to me, Buck.  You-- you’re hearing voices?”

That command was unclear.  The Asset waited for the command to be clarified.  

“Tell me what they’re saying,” the man ordered.  

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” the Asset reported.  “I swear you’re going to drive me into an early grave, the bunch of you, stop talking, oh my god, just stop talking, how did this get so fubar, that’s it, we’re going into the other room, no, wait, Steve, he’s upset, let me talk to Steve, shut up, you shut up, who are you to tell me what to do, why is he repeating what you’re saying like that, that’s creepy as hell, I’m scared, I want to go home, I’m scared, all of you shut up, move, that way, through that door, quick-march, go, but, Steve, he’s still there, it’s Steve, move your ass, soldier, now.”  

  
Order fulfilled, the Asset shut its mouth, and exited the room.  


	3. Chapter 3

Getting through the door didn’t help the Sergeant much, because none of the rest of them were willing to lock it behind them.  The Asset didn’t have that much initiative; the Soldier didn’t see the strategic value; Bucky couldn’t be bothered, Jimmy was too upset, and Buck had no interest at all in being on this side of the door.

“Steve!” Buck shouted, and the Sergeant wrestling him back from the front left no-one out there.  The body slid heavily down the door and thumped to the carpet, scaring a number of subroutines and troubling the Soldier with the indefensibility of the position.  Buck struggled in the Sergeant’s grip.   _ I have to get back out there!  I have to talk to him!  He’s really worried, I have to help him!  Now! _

_ Oh my God,  _ Bucky sniped at him,  _ would you shut up?  Do you have to be such a girl?   _

_ I’m confused,  _ Jimmy whimpered.   _ I don’t know what’s going on, I’m scared, this is scary!   _ Tears started to roll down the face, the breathing choked.   _ Why am I hearing voices?  Who are you?  What’s happening?   _

Buck glared at Bucky, but reached out to Jimmy.   _ Hey, it’s okay.  We’re not going to hurt you.   _

Jimmy didn’t take his hand.   _ Why are you here?  This is weird.  Am I crazy?  Am I losing it?  I don’t want to be crazy!   _

_ Nobody’s crazy,  _ Buck soothed.   _ You’re fine, we’re fine.  We’ll get some answers.   _ He turned to the Sergeant.   _ Right?   _

The Sergeant sighed a deep sigh.   _ Yeah, guess this is as far as we can go.  Look, we’ve…  _ He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, inhaled deeply, even as the body continued to slump motionless against the door.   _ We’ve been through some bad shit, okay?  And so parts of us-- parts of me-- had to go to sleep for a while.  So the shit didn’t kill me.  And that was working, that was fine, until all THIS happened and all the parts started being awake all at once.   _

_ Parts?  _ Buck asked.   _ Are you saying I’m not really me?  I feel like me; I just can’t move.  And I’m hearing voices. _

_You ARE_ _you,_ the Sergeant said.   _You’re just… also me._ He blew out a stream of smoke in an annoyed huff.   _Hell, I don’t know how it works.  I just know that this is what we had to do, if I wanted to keep my self, considering._

_ Considering?  _ Buck asked.

The Sergeant shrugged.   _ Bad shit.   _

Bucky gestured to the Sergeant, who reluctantly passed over a cigarette.   _ Whatever,  _ Bucky said,  _ but it means that we look like a COMPLETE freak out there.  Did you see Steve’s face? _  He lit up and inhaled, smirking.   _ That would have been funny if it hadn’t been so damn embarrassing. _

_ It would NOT _ , Buck snapped.   _ There’s nothing funny about it-- he’s worried about me!  If I’m okay, then I need to go out there and TELL him that.  _

_ I don’t think we’re okay,  _ Jimmy murmured.   _ I think we’re crazy.   _

_You all make me LOOK_ _crazy,_ Bucky complained.  

 _We are NOT_ _crazy,_ the Sergeant snapped.   _We are doing the best we can do, given everything, and I think that’s actually pretty good. For fuck’s sake, what do you expect?_

Jimmy shook his head.   _ What about him?   _ he asked, almost in a whisper.  He didn’t move, but gestured with a jerk of his chin  to the great, solid bulk of the Winter Soldier in the corner, who was moving the eyes around to continue to survey the room.

The Soldier paused in his review of the tactical situation.  The faulty briefings were louder and more insistent, but he couldn’t let himself be distracted from his task.  Although given that they seemed to be overriding his desires-- and interacting with Rogers in ways that increasingly worsened and limited his options-- it might be more important to deal with them sooner rather than later.  

Jimmy flinched at that thought.   _ He’s scary,  _ he murmured.   _ I think he wants to hurt us.  I think he wants to hurt Steve.   _ He looked to the Sergeant.   _ You can’t let him!  I don’t want to!   _

The Sergeant hissed.   _ Shut up, kid.   _ The Asset’s subroutines were whimpering  _ don’t let them know you’re scared don’t let them see it don’t draw their attention shhh shhh shhh _ .  

_ He can’t,  _ Buck snapped, standing up in front of the others, hands in fists.   _ Hey, pal, you better not try anything.  There’s more of us than there are of you. _

_ Jesus Christ,  _ the Sergeant muttered.

The Winter Soldier considered the voice of the briefing.  Telepathic interference seemed likely, though it was surprising that a telepath would resort to half-measures rather than simply taking him over.  Sabotage to his training, maybe?  He didn’t have many options about that, besides returning to base to have it taken care of.  That prioritized escape over his mission, and given that whatever this interference was it seemed to be trying to protect Rogers, wouldn’t that just play directly into his enemies’ hands?  

Well, he did have some training in mental combat, even if not enough to defeat a telepath of any real power.  He could at least get more intelligence about his opponent(s)’ strength.  The Soldier visualized the briefings, visualized a Skorpion appearing in his hands, and opened fire.

The Sergeant leaped forward to knock Buck to the ground, covering Jimmy underneath them.  Bucky dodged,  swearing.  The Asset got shot a lot.  It stared down at the bullet wounds, not particularly interested in them-- they were nothing new, after all, even if they seemed to have less to do with the body than usual.  The Soldier continued to fire, watching them carefully.

Buck leapt up, Captain America’s shield in his hands.  He wasn’t sure where it came from, but it felt right to hold it over the others, protecting them.  Bullets rattled off it, and he remembered something like this, remembered it going badly, but he didn’t have time or attention for that right now.  Right now he was thinking about holding the solid vibranium steady, tilting it to cover Jimmy (who was curled up in a ball), feeling Bucky settle in by his side.  Could he get a gun from wherever he’d gotten the shield from?

_ Don’t shoot back!  _ the Sergeant ordered.   _ It won’t do a damn bit of good!   _ He reached down to their feet, pulled open a cellar door, and gestured them into the darkness inside.   _ Get in there!  Move your asses!  Now now NOW!   _ He kicked Jimmy down the stairs, grabbed Bucky around the waist, and leapt in.   _  Come on Buck, MOVE!   _

Buck thrust the shield in the direction of the rain of bullets to throw off his opponent and jumped into the pit, grabbing the door to slam shut above them.  He stood panting in the darkness, looking out the slowly blinking eyes of the body, still gazing dully across the room.

_ Well,  _ the Sergeant said,  _ that did not go as well as I’d hoped.   _

The Soldier considered the disappearance of his targets.  One remained-- a solid lump, not reacting to his approach.  He looked into its eyes, saw nothing real looking back.  Deep inside it, the subroutines whimpered, not sure whether to freeze or fawn.  This didn’t seem like much of a threat, but the figure didn’t go down when the Soldier pumped a few dozen more bullets into where its vital organs should be.  He summoned some chains into being, approached it cautiously, and shackled its hands together.  When he got no resistance, he shackled its feet as well, and hog-tied it.  It didn’t resist, just bled on the chains.  The Soldier shot a few more rounds into its head, but though they clearly hit-- bloody holes blossoming in the dark hair-- it didn’t explode outwards the way a head struck by close-range bullets should.  It stayed the same shape, bleeding, but somehow intact.

A radio crackled at the Soldier’s waist.  He kept his gun trained on the shape in front of him and answered the radio without looking at it.  “Go ahead.”

“Stand down, Soldier,” a voice ordered.  “Code alpha-victor-three-one-four-yankee-november-mike.” 

That was the correct code.  On the other hand, “You’re in my head,” the Soldier pointed out.  “You read that from my mind.”  

There was a sigh over the radio.  “I am in your head,” the voice agreed.  “I’m not from outside, though.  I’m part of you.”

Obvious lie.  “You’re interfering with my mission.”  

“Your mission is  _ wrong, _ ” another voice said.  “If you’re really part of me, you’d  _ never  _ be trying to hurt Steve!  Not in a million years!”

The Soldier considered.  Rogers’ reactions to him would indeed make a lot more sense if they had known each other in the past, and had ties to each other.  Still.  “Rogers is on the wrong side,” the Winter Soldier said.  “He’s a threat to HYDRA; he’s a threat to the world.”

The first voice sighed.  “Well-- what about if he were on our side?  Maybe you could persuade him to sign up with HYDRA, if you talked to him?”

“Steve would  _ never-- _ ” the second voice started, indignant, then turned into muffled mumbling.

“I’m not a recruiter,” the Soldier pointed out.  “It’s not one of my skills.”

“No, really?” said a third voice.  “Who’d have figured?”

“ _ Look,” _ the first voice said.  “We can’t keep going like this.  Winter Soldier, you can’t continue your mission if the rest of us keep stopping you.  And these guys are  _ going  _ to keep stopping you.”

“I could kill you,” the Soldier said.

“Maybe,” the first voice said.  “Maybe you could kill us.  Maybe you couldn’t-- your guns are imaginary, and I don’t think we are.  But wouldn’t it be smarter to try to come to terms instead?”

“I could try to kill you,” the Soldier said, “and then come to terms later, if that doesn’t work.”

“Yes,” the first voice said, sounding entirely at the end of his patience, “that’s true.  You could do that.”  

“Or maybe  _ we’d  _ kill  _ you,”  _ the second voice snapped.  “Ever think of that?”

The Soldier considered.  “If you’re telepathically engaging with my mind, you won’t try to kill me-- you’d have done it already, without this show.  You’re here because you want something.”

“Okay,” the first voice said, apparently having rallied.  “First of all, we’re still not a telepath from outside your head.  But even if we were: all I want is for us to come to  _ some  _ kind of consensus about what we’re doing.  Because this bumbling stumbling everyone-coming-out-like-ducks-in-a-line thing is stupid and useless.  No-one gets what they want, and we look like we’re unhinged enough that anyone who wanted to could do whatever they wanted with us.  So can we at least  _ try  _ to talk it out?”

“My mission is to kill Rogers,” the Soldier said, “and return to base.”  

“No!” said several voices.  

“ALL RIGHT,” the first voice cut over them.  “So there’s some disagreement about what happens when we get out of this apartment.  Fine.  Can we at least agree on what we’re doing  _ until  _ we get out?”  

There was a pause.  “First steps are to explore possible exits,” the Soldier said, “and to complete the modifications on the arm into tools and weapons.”

There was urgent murmuring.  The first voice overrode it.  “All right.  You want to explore and work on the arm.  Who else wants something in the room?”

“Steve,” the second voice said.  “I need to talk to Steve.”

“Warning the target about the plan is not mission-compatible,” the Soldier said.  

“I’m not going to just let him walk into your trap!” the second voice spat back.  

“The man’s not an idiot,” the first voice argued.  “I’m sure he’s noticed that at least one of us is trying to kill him.  Why do you think we’re locked in here?”

“Warning the target about the  _ details  _ of the plan is not mission-compatible.”

“Okay,” the first voice said, “but you don’t  _ have  _ any details right now.  So I don’t see how Buck could spill them even if he does talk to Steve.  Right?”

“Yes,” the Soldier said reluctantly, after a moment’s thought.

“Okay,” the first voice said.  “Fine.  Bucky, Jimmy, you want anything?”

“I want to go home.”

“Yeah, something that  _ doesn’t  _ involve leaving the room, kid.”

“I’m not a kid.”  There was sniffling.  “I want to know what’s going to happen to us.  How long can we stay here?  Do we have to go back?  And… and I want a hug.”  There was a shuffling.  “No, a real hug.  In the body… Thanks, though.”

“No problem,” said the second voice.  

“All right…” the first voice said, thoughtful.  “Dunno about the hug, but is it okay if Buck asks about what they’re planning to do with us?  Instead of you?  It’ll look more normal.”  A pause.  “Okay, good.  Bucky?”

“Whatever.  I could use some better clothes and a haircut, though, I look like a bum.”

“The hair is this length for facial concealment, should the mask be lost,” the Soldier pointed out. 

“Who says I wanna  _ conceal  _ my mug?  Doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“It’s a strategic advantage,” the Soldier said.  

“Buddy, what girls are you trying to strategize for?  Cuz you’re doing it wrong.”

“It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference,” the first voice put in, “I don’t see a single barber’s chair in this room.  So that’s an  _ after  _ we get out question.”  He hummed, thoughtfully.  “But the clothes are a real question.  We’ve got, what, two sandwiches left?  That’ll be dinner.  But unless they’re going to starve us out, they’re gonna have to send someone in here with more food.  That might be a chance for clothes, or whatever else we need; the body’ll need the stitches out at some point.  Buck, think you can ask about that?”

“Sure,” the second voice said, after a moment’s pause.  The Soldier wondered whether they were thinking the same thing: if someone opened the door to bring in food and supplies, then the open door was an opportunity.  The truce would end, then, and he needed to keep an eye on this Buck to keep him from interfering further with the mission.  But for the moment, he could wait.  

“All right,” the first voice said.  “Great.  See what happens when you play nice?”

  
The Soldier saw.


	4. Chapter 4

When they finally got up and left the bedroom, Buck made a beeline for the movie screen on the wall.  “Steve?”

“No.”  The screen was showing a different scene.  Behind Steve had been a nondescript room, white wall and carpet, not much to see.  This room was crowded, dim, with spots of bluish light-- some in the shapes of machines, some panels to the side.  It was full of equipment, most of which Buck didn’t recognize-- metal and glass, charts and graphs and curves.  The man who had spoken was in the middle-- short, dark-haired, wearing a grease-spotted undershirt, with a goatee and a frown.  “He’s not here.  Because the combined force of six superheroes, two supergeniuses, and a CEO  _ finally  _ managed to persuade him to take a shower and go to bed.  And unless there’s a  _ dire  _ emergency, that’s where he’s staying.”  The man looked at Buck.  “Is this a dire emergency?”

Buck shook his head.  “No.  No, it’s not.”  He heard Jimmy sigh, disappointed, but not heartbroken.  “It’s good that you got him to take a break, actually.  He never takes enough care of himself.”  

The man nodded, mollified.  “I’m glad we’re on the same page.  So!  What can I do for you?”

“Well…” Buck thought it over.  “Have we met?”  The man looked familiar.  

_ Tony Stark,  _ the Sergeant supplied.   _ Howard’s son.   _

Buck nodded, ignoring Bucky’s eye-rolled annoyance at the out-of-place gesture.  “Oh-- that’s why it was funny that I asked whether the screen was Stark’s.  Different Stark.”  

“Different Stark,” Stark agreed.  “And you are…?”

No-one had asked him that before.  Well, not this him.  Buck was paralyzed for a minute, not sure whether to try to hide what was going on in his head.

“Actually, let me take that back a step,” Stark said.  “ _ Which  _ of you are you?  We know there’s at least six.”  He took in Buck’s expression and smirked.  “We have superspies and things, they’re useful for more than just making coffee.  So… am I talking to someone who is or isn’t going to try to kill us all?”

“Isn’t,” Buck said firmly.  Although at the reminder, he reluctantly let the Soldier take over the body to start retrieving the parts of the arm from where they were scattered over the table and floor.  “And I’m not going to let him, either.”

“Good to hear,” Stark said.  “You have a name?”

“Buck,” Buck said aloud, finding it odd to say.  “I’m Buck.”

“Cool,” Stark said.  “Cool, cool, cool.  Nice to meet you.  You got any idea about  _ why  _ your buddy in there is feeling all murder-happy?”

_ Watch it,  _ the Soldier warned.  Internally, Buck glared at him.  Only it seemed like the internal glare transferred over to his external face, because Stark raised an eyebrow.  “It’s his mission,” Buck said quickly.  “He’s trying to kill Steve and--”

_ Stop,  _ the Soldier said.   _ No details.   _

_ That’s not a detail!  _  Buck protested.   _ That’s obvious, they know that already.   _

_ You were trying to break the truce,  _ the Soldier said.  

Buck had no good answer for that.  What did  _ he  _ care whether the Sergeant liked it, or what the Soldier threatened?  That hardly mattered next to Steve’s safety.  Nothing did.

_ Pathetic,  _ Bucky snapped at him.   _ Get your head out of his ass, would you?   _

“Buck?” Stark called.  “You still with me?”

Buck shoved his way firmly back to the front.  “Here,” he said.  “You should keep me in here, though.  Don’t let me out.”

“Not a problem!” Stark assured him.  “You’re not going anywhere.  Not until we get some  _ much  _ better answers about what’s going on with you, anyway.”

_ What then?  _ Jimmy asked, and Buck saw no reason not to let him through to ask it out loud.  “What are you going to do with me?”

“Not sure,” Stark said, and Asset's subroutines tensed.  “Oh, nothing terrible-- mostly just hang onto you until you’re not so ragged around the edges, because seriously, dude, you look like you’re on your last legs.  Be great if we  _ could  _ let you out, though.  Steve would love to have his buddy back, if that’s something he can have.  What do you think?”

“Of course,” Buck said.  “Of course.  I just… I just need to get rid of the Soldier.  Get him out of my head.”

_Good luck,_ the Soldier said.   _It’s MY_ _head.  Whatever you are, you can’t change that._

Stark’s lips moved, silently shaping “the Soldier.”  “Sounds like a plan,” he said.  “Any thoughts on how?”

Buck shook his head. “I don’t even know how he got in here in the first place.”  Internally, he glanced to the Sergeant, but didn’t get any response.    

“Fair enough,” Stark said.  “Well, we can figure that out later.  How’re you settling in in there?  You need anything?”

_ Food,  _ the Sergeant prompted.   _ Clothes.   _

_ I know,  _ Buck protested.  “More food?” he said.  Stark glanced at the table where the two wrapped sandwiches remained, looked inquiring.  “After that,” Buck said.  “And… maybe something I can wear besides pyjamas?  Oh, and I guess the stitches will need to come out?”

Stark frowned, suspicious.  “Uhhh- _ huh, _ ” he said.  “Those are all pretty reasonable requests that involve us opening the door and giving you a chance to escape.”  

“You asked,” Bucky growled past Buck.  “If you didn’t mean it, why’d you say it?”

“I asked whether you  _ needed  _ anything,” Stark said.  “Like, right now.  The other stuff-- yeah, we’re not going to starve you, obviously.  But it’s gonna wait until someone besides me is up and active before we take a chance on it.”  He shook his head, looking frustrated. “Hell,  _ I  _ don’t know what makes sense, here.  Steve wants you kept safe; the rest of us want to keep him safe from you, and we don’t know what we’re doing with you in the long run.  There; now you know as much as I know.  Well, no, you don’t, but you’re not going to ever anyway, so that’s about as close as you’re going to get.  Got it?”

Buck thought about it.   _ He’s telling the truth, though,  _ Jimmy pointed out.   _ He’s rude and mad, but he’s not lying to us.  And he’s not threatening us, even though he could.  I think he’s okay.   _

“Sure,” Buck said aloud.  “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Stark said.  “So.  Um.”  He looked awkward for a moment, then his eyes lit.  “What’s that you’re working on there?  And how the hell are you working on it, I know I didn’t leave any tools in there.”

Buck let his attention focus on the body’s gaze.  The Soldier had finished recovering all the parts of the arm from the carpet, and was laying them out methodically on the flimsy table.  “I… don’t know,” he said.  “It’s an arm, I guess?”  

“You guess?” Stark asked.  “Okay, well-- what are you doing with it?”

“Um,” Buck said.   _ Are you going to try to take over if I tell him? _

_ Yes.   _

“I’m not sure,” Buck said.  “It’s not me doing it.”   

Stark raised his eyebrows.  “Oooooookay, then.  Well, whoever  _ is  _ doing it-- does he want some better light?  We can make that happen without opening the door.”

_ Yes,  _ the Soldier said.  Buck nodded.  

“Great,” Stark said.  “Jarvis, take care of it, would you?”

“Certainly, sir,” the Brit said, and the ceiling above and in front of them brightened, daylight bright.  Now that Buck was paying attention, he could see that it was dark outside the drawn blinds, though the city still glowed, brighter than he’d expect it to.  The room was mostly dim, a relaxing, nighttime shade.  The hand continued to work, stripping the outer plating from part of the arm to reveal intricate joints and mechanisms.  

“Nice,” Stark said.  He waved his hands, and a glowing blue image appeared in the air in front of him-- looking, if Buck paid attention, like the machine parts the hand was laying out.  “Looks like you’ve got a ding in your hydraulic valve actuator there.”  

The Soldier stilled the hand.   _ No.  He is not to examine the arm.  Distract him.   _

_ I don’t take orders from you!  _ Buck snapped.

_ Distract him,  _ the Soldier said,  _ or we’re taking the work in the other room, and you won’t get to talk to Rogers when he wakes up.   _

Buck didn’t care for his tone or his ideas.  But it did bring the question to mind.  “So-- is Steve okay?  How’s he doing?”  

Stark looked at him for a long moment.  “Who wants to know?”

“Still Buck,” Buck said, frustrated.  But honesty, and strategic awareness, compelled him to add: “But everyone else can hear everything we say.  So don’t tell me anything that could hurt him.”  Although  _ damn  _ it, because Steve was  _ already  _ good at pretending he was fine when he wasn’t, let alone having someone pretend for him to keep his vulnerabilities from showing…

Stark nodded, thinking.  “Well… asleep, like I said.  He’s physically fine-- he was limping for a day or so after that stunt you pulled in the hospital, but the serum took care of that.”

_ Stunt?  _ Buck wondered, not remembering.  “Is he eating enough?”

Stark’s lips twitched.  “Yes.  Despite all odds.”  

Buck nodded, relieved.  That sounded like Stark knew about what the serum did to Steve’s appetite, and  _ also  _ about how hard it was to get Steve to admit it.  “Good,” he said.  “Is the rest of the unit okay?”  Because if he wanted to know how Steve was feeling, especially without asking that specifically, finding out how the men under his command were doing was the best way to find out.

“The unit…?” Stark asked.  Then his mouth opened in surprise, his eyes widening.  “Oh… shit.  Buck, do you know what year it is?”

“It’s 2014,” Bucky said past him, quickly.  “I  _ just  _ went over this with Steve.  I’m not an idiot.”

Stark quirked his lips at Bucky’s sudden nerve.  “Right.  Well, then, you want to connect the dots for yourself, or you want me to do it?”

“What?” Buck asked.

_ Never mind!  _ the Sergeant snapped suddenly.   _ Buck, that’s enough talking for you!  Why don’t you, um, come back here and put your fingers in your ears and hum? _

“No!” Buck snapped, and Bucky groaned.   _For god’s sake, HE_ _can’t hear us, if you have to talk to us while you’re out front, do it in your damn head!_

_ I don’t care,  _ Buck snapped, although silently-- it was true, it didn’t seem like a great idea to look crazy.  But it was also important that he understand this.  “What dots?” he said.  

“It’s an-- oh, never mind.  It’s…”  Stark looked away, poking at one of the charts next to him, not meeting the eyes.  “It’s just that… well, it being 2014, you know, that’s about seventy years since you disappeared.  And Steve, well, he’s a super-soldier and all, but the rest of the unit, they, you know, weren’t.  So.”

“Oh,” Buck said.  

_ What?  _ Jimmy asked.  _ No!  No, no, Dugan, Morita, everyone-- no!    _ He started sobbing, and Buck wondered whether it was more important to go comfort him or keep finding out more about Steve.  

_ I got him,  _ the Sergeant said, and wrapped an arm around Jimmy, whose sobs were muffled underneath it.  Buck nodded, and returned his attention to Stark.  “Wait, so Steve’s been around for the last seventy years?”   

“No,” Stark said, “he spent most of it asleep.  Crashed a plane in the arctic and froze; they only dug him up a few years ago.”

“He crashed a plane?” Buck asked.  “What the hell was he doing flying a plane?  Steve’s not a pilot.”

“Thus the crashing!” Stark said.  “But it’s a long story, I should let him tell you.”  He looked pensive.  “You’re taking this pretty well.”

Buck shrugged.  It was kind of weird-- he supposed he should be more upset than he was, but mostly he was just thinking about how the hell Steve had gotten himself into that kind of a scrape.  And waking up two years ago, in the ungodly year of 2012, with none of the unit at all around-- “How’s  _ he _ taking it?  The whole-- future thing.  Was he real upset?”

“He managed,” Stark said.  Opened his mouth, shut it, repeated,  shook his head, then said, “Did he used to do the thing where he goes for a run and just  _ keeps  _ running?”

“Not… exactly,” Buck said.  “In the war, it wouldn’t have been safe to go wandering off.  And he couldn’t, when he was a kid, his lungs wouldn’t do it.  But… he did used to go walking, sometimes.  When things were bad.”

Stark nodded, attention focused.  “Say he’s going out for air or something?  But then just… not come back for hours, and not talk about where he’d been, and generally not say a damn thing about the whole business except ‘Don’t worry about it?’”

“Yes!” Buck said.  “Which is about the dumbest damn thing you  _ could  _ say if you  _ really  _ don’t want a guy to worry about you!”  

Stark nodded, emphatic.  “So you’d think it would be some passive-aggressive bullshit, except--”

Buck shook his head, “Except that that’s  _ not  _ how he looks when he’s trying to pull one on you, he gets all flustered, or all smug, depending on if he thinks he’s doing something really wrong.  So you  _ know--” _

“He really means it,” Stark said.  “He really doesn’t think you’re going to think about him.”

“Because he’s an idiot,” Buck said.  And then looked to make sure Stark was taking it the right way.  Because  _ he’s  _ allowed to say that, he knows how smart Steve actually is, but if Stark didn’t really get it…

“A really smart idiot,” Stark said, with the same air of checking Buck out, making sure they were on the same page.  “A tactically brilliant, strategically clever, person who just  _ keeps  _ being surprised by the same damn thing.  Like a heroic fucking goldfish.”  

Buck nodded.  “Exactly.”  And pictured Steve making goldfish faces, and Bucky smirked.  “You know him pretty well.”

Stark’s expressions went too fast to read.  “You could say that,” he said.  “Well, you mentioned the unit-- he does have us, now.  The team.  The Avengers.  We’re not all that great at howling-- well, except maybe Bruce, in the right mood-- he goes commando then, too, come to think of it, if he doesn’t start out in a uniform.  Okay, so, maybe one howling commando, the rest of us, not so much. But we do what we can.”

Buck thought that over.  It was good, for Steve to have a team, to have people watching his back.  Especially if he’d lost the rest of them, he’d need someone else to think about.  So that was good?

_ Doesn’t he want us any more?   _ Jimmy wondered, tearful.             

_ Quit whining about it,  _ Bucky snapped at him.   _ For God’s sake, when are you going to let go of his damn apron-strings?  Jesus.   _

Jimmy hid his face, silent.

“Buck?” Stark asked.  “Stay with me, buddy, you’re the one who can give me the good dish, here.”  

“Sure,” Buck said.  “Sorry.”  He watched the hand work on unscrewing a joint, half-heard the Soldier figuring out how to compensate for the difficulties of doing the job one-handed.  “It’s funny in here.”

“I’ll bet,” Stark says.  “That new?  The whole… you know, bunch of you thing?”

Buck nodded, though the Sergeant was paying close attention now.  “Just… just since we got here.”  Or at least… memories from before then were so jumbled, so confused.   _ Is that true?   _

_No,_ the Sergeant said.   _But what are you telling HIM_ _for?  You wanna get locked up?_

_ We are locked up,  _ Buck pointed out.  

_ More locked up,  _ the Sergeant growled.   _ In an asylum, kind of locked up.   _

Buck wasn’t sure.   _ If I’m dangerous, then, yeah, maybe I’d  better? _

“Bad topic?” Stark asked.

Buck thought about it for a long moment.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.  You said you knew there were six of us-- does that mean you know what’s going on with me?”

_ I don’t want to be crazy!  _ Jimmy cried.   _ I don’t want to go to an asylum, I don’t want to! _

_No-one’s sending us anywhere,_ Bucky said.   _At least, not if you would just TRY_ _to act like a normal human being, for god’s sake, it’s not that hard!_

“Guesses,” Stark said.  “Hell, I should let you talk to a shrink or something, they’d say it better, but yeah, what I understood is some kind of post-traumatic split-personality thing?”

“‘Bad shit,’?” Buck said aloud, inner eye on the Sergeant.  “So… does that mean I’m crazy?”

“Pretty much,” Stark said.  “But what the hell, we’ve all got some diagnosis or other around here, if we slow down enough to let ourselves get examined.  Bipolar II for fun and profit, at your service, not to mention Oppositional Defiant Disorder, though frankly, I think he was just mad I was smarter than him.  Which might prove his point, but I’m currently a billionaire superhero in my own skyscraper, and he’s… not.  There are worse things to be than crazy, is my point.”              

Buck wasn’t sure what to make of that.  The Sergeant cleared his throat.  “You’re not locked up,” one of them pointed out to Stark.  

“Very true!” Stark agreed.  “Which is not to say that people haven’t thought it would be a damn good idea from time to time, but nobody could make it stick.  Because see above, re: billionaire superhero.  But also, not terrible at keeping the damage to within legal and societally acceptable limits.”  He paused, shut his mouth, frowned.  

“You okay?” Buck asked.

Stark shook his head.  “Yeah, fine.”  He typed something with one hand on a screen next to him, stared at it.  “Did anyone ever tell you you’re bizarrely easy to talk to?”

Buck shrugged.  “I guess?”  He remembered long talks with Steve, sometimes at night.  Remembered jawing with the other Commandos, with guys in Basic, with girls on the train.  “I like people.”  

Bucky raised his eyes to the heavens.   _How can you be so soppy?  How is it possible for a person to even BE_ _that much of a rose-tinted dope?_

_ Shut up,  _ Buck suggested, not terribly offended.  

_Well, except for your great big damn hero, HE_ _does it without even breathing hard._

_ Shut UP _ , Buck snapped, harsher.

_ Oh, did I strike a nerve?  What, you figure if you act like him enough, he’ll want you back?  Fat chance.  Kind of a contradiction in terms you got going there, pal. _

“Buck?”

“What!” Buck snapped to Stark.  Got himself in check.  “Sorry.  Some of the guys in here are real assholes,” he said, at least in part because it made Bucky squirm to hear him airing their dirty laundry.

_ That’s it,  _ the Sergeant snapped, and yanked him back.   _ You two may have things to settle from a long time before I got here, but like hell I’m going to let you do it at the expense of the rest of us.  Quit talking. _

“Sorry to hear it,” Stark said.  “What’re they saying?”

Buck struggled.   _ It’ll look worse if we just suddenly stop talking!   _

_ True,  _ the Sergeant acknowledged, and let Bucky in front.

Bucky shrugged.  “Eh.  Nothing important.”

Stark seemed to take that in stride.  “Yeah, okay,” he said.  “And hey, if you don’t wanna answer my questions, that’s okay, too, you know.  We can’t let you out until we know you’re all right, but we’re not gonna make you do anything, or do anything  _ to  _ you, besides keep you here.  That’s important to let you know, everyone wanted to make sure we told you that.  You’re free to do anything-- or not do anything-- you want in there.”

The Soldier kept listening, carefully.

“Great?” Bucky said.  It was obnoxious that the other guy was implying that he  _ could  _ do something to him if he wanted, that Bucky wouldn’t be able to stop him.  Yeah, he had him locked up and everything, but Bucky sure wouldn’t go down without a fight!  “Not a whole lot  _ to  _ do in here, though.”

“Well, you  _ have  _ got the internet,” Stark said.  “The screen you’re talking to me through-- it’s not just a camera and display, it’s got touchscreen features-- Jarvis, go ahead and turn those back on?-- so if you tap the lower right-hand corner, it’ll bring up a window with Google on it, and you can get wherever online you wanna go from there.  Well, within limits, but Jarvis can keep an eye on what you’re doing and let you know if you go anywhere we’d rather you didn’t.”  He paused, studying Bucky.  “Any of that too futurese for you?”

_ Is that a dare?  _  Bucky wondered.  He walked over and  tapped the movie-screen-- no, just the screen, that’s what Stark had called it-- in the lower right-hand corner, and a big white rectangle showed up, with the word “Google” in brightly-colored letters in the middle, smaller grey words and symbols around the edges.  “Looks pretty clear,” he said.   _ Sergeant, you know what this is, right?   _

_ It’s the internet,  _ the Sergeant said, and when  _ he _ said it, Bucky understood what it meant.  

“Well, good,” Stark said.  “So, there you go.  Plenty to do.”  He paused.  “Question?”  Bucky gestured  _ go on.   _ “Is this still Buck I’m talking to?”

_ Shit.   _ “Who else would it be?” Bucky asked.

Stark raised an eyebrow.  “You tell me, Russian Roulette.”  

Bucky glared.  “I’m not crazy,” he said, and then swore internally, because that sounded  _ exactly  _ like what a crazy person would say.

“Oh,” Stark said.  “My apologies.  I did not know that.”

Bucky glared harder.  “You wanna come in here and start that stuff, Stark?”

“Nope!” Stark said cheerfully.  “Been over that, I think-- I am  _ so  _ not coming in there any time tonight.  Because you-- or at least, one of you-- is good enough to take on  _ three  _ of my teammates at once.  And while I wouldn’t exactly want to match Iron Man against a poor guy who can’t even fly without wings, because that would just be mean, I still have a healthy respect for your capabilities.  So I will be staying out here.”

Bucky blinked, not sure what to make of that.  “Oh, so you’re chicken?”

“Bawk,” Stark said.  “Bawk, bawk, bawk.  Okay, but look at it this way.  You and me get into it, no matter  _ who  _ gets hurt, Steve’s going to be pissed.  That does not exactly optimize my happiness.  Capische?”

Bucky scoffed.  “That guy worries too much.”

_ About other people,  _ Buck put in, grumpy.   _ Not about himself nearly enough.   _

“Yeah?” Stark asked, cocking his head.  “You sound mad at him.”

Bucky shrugged.  “Nah, we’re fine.  Nothing big.”

“Hm,” Stark said.  “Okay, well-- I’ve got work to do, so I’m gonna get back to that.  You want to talk about anything else, you let me know, I’ll be right here.  All right?”

“Sure,” Bucky said.  “I’ll be here, too.  Not going anywhere.”

_ I’m tired,  _ Jimmy said.   _ I mean-- the body’s tired.  We’re all tired.  Can we go to sleep? _

The Soldier took them back to the table and looked down at the deconstructed arm, the incomplete weapons and tools made from it.   _ No.   _

_But I’m tired!_ Jimmy whined.   _Today was really long, and we talked a LOT,_ _and we need to sleep!_

The Soldier drew a gun and fired it at Jimmy.  It was a warning shot, and bounced off of Buck’s shield, but it made the point.   _ No,  _ he said.  

They went back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't say that Tony is _lying_ about his mental health history, per se. He has totally been given those diagnoses by at least one shrink at some point in his life. 
> 
> Just... there may be other slightly more accurate ones that he's not sharing with his deadly assassin houseguest, no matter how easy Buck is to talk to.


	5. Chapter 5

They woke because they were hearing voices, and not from inside the head.

“--didn’t have to come all the way down here.”

“I know,” said the man from the bridge.  “Maybe I just felt like it, huh?”  The Asset had woken first, as usual, to get a sense of where they were, and to take the brunt of whatever was happening.  Right now, they were in a bed, in a dark room, with the sound of voices coming faintly from outside.  “Anything?”

“Oh, sure.  He came out to chat about… hm, midnight or so.  We had a whole little conversation.”

“You didn’t wake me up?!”

“True… Oh, for fuck’s sake, he’s not  _ going  _ anywhere… Don’t give me that look.  He’s not.”

“I’m not giving you a look.”  

“Excuse me, I have it on video.  Don’t make me demonstrate, that never goes well for you.”

“Smart-ass.”

“Isn’t that why you keep me around?  Well, that and one or two billion other reasons.”

“You had it right the first time.”  There was a pause, footsteps, a longer pause.  “Thanks.  For keeping watch.”

“Eh, I had work to do, wasn’t planning on sleeping anytime soon anyway.  Do you want to see my new remote synaptic link?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?  Oh.  You mean, after you grill me about, tall, dark and cranky in there.”

“Well… yeah.  But I do want to see it.”

“Cool.  Great.  Well...  he’s… I like at least one of him, so that’s something.”

“You can… tell apart the different parts, that Natasha was talking about?”

“More or less?  Can’t spot ‘em all, but Buck seems to be a friendly enough guy.  Thinks a lot about you.”

_ That’s a nice way to put it,  _ Bucky commented, waking up.

_ Shut up,  _ Buck said, because he might not be awake enough to know much, but he was sure about that.   _ Hey-- that’s Steve!  He’s back!   _

_And you can go talk to him IF_ _you can manage to keep from selling the rest of us out,_ the Sergeant said.   _Think you can manage that?_

_ Yes,  _ Buck said.

_ No, seriously,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ I know you don’t like it, but we gotta share, here.  Think you can talk to him without doing anything that’ll piss off anyone else in here enough to try to take over?   _

Buck hesitated.   _ Sarge, you know that this truce you’ve got going can’t possibly last, right?  The Soldier and me… we want really, really different things.   _

The Sergeant growled.   _ Look, do I look like the top brass?  No.  No, I do not.  I’m a sergeant; I take orders, keep us in one piece, and get us through whatever it is that comes at us. Nobody ever said anything about me coming up with the grand strategy for the whole damn war!        _

_ Yeah, well,  _ Bucky put in,  _ who else do you think is gonna do it?  The kid?  Or the zombie?   _

_ Still not a kid,  _ Jimmy said.   _ Can’t we just stay in here? _

_ The mission is to terminate target Rogers,  _ the Winter Soldier said, and wondered why he was arguing.  A telepathic invader would just harvest information from whatever he said.  Even if he were to accept these voices as post-traumatic residue, there was no point in arguing with them-- he needed to get back to base to have them wiped, there wouldn’t be anything he could do on his own. 

But he couldn’t get back to base if they kept acting against him, spilling information and warning his target.                

_ No!  _ Buck was saying.   _ Not happening.  No way!  _

The Winter Soldier knew better than to act on impulsive emotion.    

The Sergeant sighed, deeply.   _ See, this is where we woulda’ talked to someone smarter than us to figure things out.  Father O’Quigley, or ma, or Agent Lukin.  Or talked things through with Steve.   _

_ We could,  _ Buck said.   _ He’s right there.   _

The Winter Soldier knew better than to act on impulsive emotion, so what he did next was a mistake dire enough to make the Asset’s subroutines quake and howl.  But he knew enough telepathic combat to change the landscape-- plunge it into darkness, lit by the pale blue-green glow of energy weapons, striking the voices, all of them, harsh explosive bolts to shatter them, silence them.   _ Enough,  _ he snapped.   _ Enough of this.  Get out of my head.   _ Another shot, rotted lightning, shreds of sky, relentless.   _ Out! _

_ What the fuck, STOP!  _ the Sergeant bellowed.  He gestured, and Buck was already there with that damn shield again, deflecting the bolts.  Useless, the Soldier could see the attack was useless, even as he intensified it, more bolts illuminating the shield, the Sergeant’s glare.   _ Stand down, you idiot, you can’t kill us!  We’re YOU! _

The Soldier let a frustrated bolt arc across the sky, ground by their feet.   _ You’re not,  _ he said.   _ I’m not that pitiful.          _

_ Shut up,  _ Buck snapped,  _ shut UP,  _ and maybe Buck wouldn’t be strong enough on his own, but Jimmy was right there next to him, all angry tears and grieving fists, and it gave them the strength to take the body and get up and run into the other room, running from the bed as if they could escape the assault just by moving the body.

And maybe they could, because now they had something completely different to think about, and the Soldier pulled back to assess.  On the screen, Steve and Stark looked up-- they were standing close together in the room where he’d seen Stark last night.  Stark looked jumpy-tired, like a guy so used to pushing through sleepless nights that he didn’t even notice any more.  Steve was looking at them, wearing that same look of concern he’d had, on and off, every time Buck had seen him in here.  “Bucky!” he said.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Buck said, automatically.  But Jimmy was shaking the head.  “I don’t know what to do!”

Stark frowned.  “About what?”

Buck hesitated, not sure what would get them pulled back from the front.  “I’m scared,” Jimmy said.  “I’m scared of me.”

Steve clenched his fists, like he wanted to reach out and couldn’t.  “It’s okay, Buck,” he said, softly.  “We’re not gonna let you do anything you’d regret.”

“(Don’t think that’s Buck, actually,)” Stark muttered.  “(He sounded older.)”

Steve half-turned to hiss at him.  “(Tony!)”  Back to them, though.  “We got you,” he said.

The Soldier turned his back on Jimmy, stilled his breathing.  Silently inventoried the weapons he’d placed at convenient places around the room, as well as the ones he’d tied to the body with strips of the extra t-shirts they’d found in a drawer.  “But what if I get out?” Jimmy said.  “I’m scared I’ll hurt you.  I don’t wanna hurt you, Steve!”

“It’s okay,” Steve said.  “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.  I’ll be fine.  I’m pretty tough these days, you know.”  

“You were always tough,” Buck said.  “But you’ve  _ never  _ been invulnerable.  And you’ve never been good at knowing that.”

Steve paused.  “Well, I had you to back me up,” he said.  “And I still do, don’t I?  I don’t think you’ll let yourself hurt me.  You stopped yourself before, you’ll do it again.”

Jimmy smiled at him sadly.  “You stopped me.  Or your friends did.  I couldn’t.  I wasn’t strong enough.”  Internally, he glanced backwards, to where the Soldier stood, listening, ready. 

“His friends aren’t going anywhere,” Stark pointed out.  “We outnumber you.  Difficult as that might sound.”  

Jimmy nodded.  “Okay.  But… please, please stop me?  I don’t want to do any of those things again.  I should have stopped me.”

“Buck…” Steve said.  “It’s not your fault.”

Jimmy shook the head.  “But I did it.”

“But not  _ you- _ you, right?” Tony asked.  “Like, a different one of you.  The Soldier, right?  That’s who Buck said it was?”

_ You okay with this?  _ the Sergeant asked the Soldier.

_ Why would you care?  _ the Soldier snapped.

The Sergeant jammed his hands in his pockets.   _ Because I do.  About all of you.   _

The Soldier hesitated, took a grounding breath.   _ It’s sound strategy to seem weaker than I am,  _ he said,  _ when I’m already at an acknowledged disadvantage.   _ He glared at Jimmy.   _ And he certainly makes me look weak.   _

“I guess,” Jimmy said.  “But so what?  We’re both me.  You can’t punish him and not me.”  

“We can help you,” Steve said.  “We can help you stop.  There’s no need to punish you for what wasn’t your fault.”

Jimmy sniffled.  “Really?”  

“Really,” Steve said.  “I promise, Buck.  We’re gonna do everything we can to help you.”

Jimmy wiped the nose on the back of the hand.  “Okay.  I’m sorry.” 

“I know,” Steve said, and Buck didn’t like the choked sound of his voice.

“It’s not  _ your  _ fault, either,” Buck told Steve.  “You weren’t there, you couldn’t do anything about it.”

Steve blinked, and Buck wondered whether he was having trouble with them changing who was in front.  “I--” Steve said.  

“He’s right,” Stark told him.  

Steve looked back and forth between the two of them, like he didn’t know which of them to argue with first.  “We can talk about that later,” he said to Buck, finally.  “When you’re-- feeling better.”  Stark gave them a look that clearly said  _ hey, I tried.   _ “For now-- well.  Do you need a doctor?  Are you feeling okay?”

They took a moment to notice what the body was doing.  Bucky had already said, “Yeah, I’m fine” by the time the Sergeant had surveyed the damage and found out that he was right-- the wounds had finished healing overnight, barely a trace left besides the stitches.  “Do these stitches need to come out?”

“They’re vicryl,” Stark said, “so they don’t have to come out at all, they’ll dissolve on their own.  We thought maybe you’ve had enough doctors for a while, don’t need any extra.  But on that note-- you were wondering about room service last night, right?  Food, clothes-- anything else?  Bottle of Dom Perignon Rose on ice?”

“Sure,” Bucky said.  “Send me two.”

“I can do that, you know,” Stark said.  “I’m pretty sure I’ve got some lying around.  But so… we’re sending some people through the door.  Think you can keep your crankier half from making a break for it?”

They turned to the Soldier.   _ Tell them yes,  _ he said.

_ I’m not lying to him,  _ Buck said.   _ Not for you.   _

“What if I can’t?” Jimmy asked.

Steve and Stark exchanged a look, and Buck had the flash of a thought,  _ he’s supposed to look at me like that, not someone else  _ before Steve said, “Try, Buck.  But if you can’t-- they’re pretty tough.  They can handle you.”

“Them, and Jarvis,” Stark said.  “He’s got you covered.”   


“Thank you for your confidence, sir,” the Brit said drily.  

“You’re welcome!” Stark chirped.  “But yeah, Buckaroo, like Cap said, why don’t you take a  _ shot  _ at not fighting our friends?  See how that goes for you.”

Buck nodded.  “I’ll try.”  

“All right,” Steve said, and nodded firmly, his Captain-America-showing-confidence-in-you nod.  Bucky, who recognized it as stolen wholesale from Father O’Quigley, was unimpressed.  Buck swallowed, though, taking it seriously.  Steve turned aside, spoke to the ceiling for some reason, and then said, “Okay, Buck-- if you don’t mind opening the door from the inside?  And then stepping back?”

They did what he asked, but it took some doing-- subroutines whispering fear and uncertainty, Bucky wanting to show how little this bothered him and also how ridiculous all the big to-do was.  Eventually, the Sergeant sent the Asset out to do the job-- it might be simple-minded, but at least it could open a damn door, for God’s sake. Then they stood back.

The outer door opened from the outside, revealing nothing but empty hallway  for a moment.  Then an archer stepped into place opposite the door, maybe twelve feet back, with a double recurve bow which he aimed at them almost before the Soldier had noticed him appearing.  They studied each other for a moment, the archer standing solid and alert.  Then a second fighter stepped into place in front of him, shorter,  weapons hidden around her body, carrying a box in one hand.  “I’m going to come inside,” she said, “and put this on the floor next to the door.  Then we’re leaving.  Please stay where you are while I do that.”

“Okay,” Buck shoved his way out to say, “but be fast.”  

She stepped forward, and the Soldier looked for openings.  He’d fought Agent Romanov before; she was light and quick, cunning and skillful, but she hadn’t been able to dodge his shot.  His mind raced through possibilities for the knives hidden under his shirt, the spiked mace just a few feet to her left.  Calculated angles with the archer, where he’d need to be to be out of range--

_ I don’t want to fight!   _ Jimmy protested.

_We’re not fighting them,_  Buck said.   _We’re fighting HIM_ _if we’re fighting anyone!_

_ Come at me then,  _ the Soldier said, and darted for the mace, throwing a knife at her.

She blocked the knife with the box, but that moment gave the Soldier time to grab the mace and swing around, wishing for his left hand and the knife he could hold in it, but making do with what he had.  The archer fired; the Soldier bashed the arrow out of the air and toward Romanov’s foot--  _ turnabout is fair play!   _ She dodged it, rolled towards the door, and was almost out when he stomped hard on her shoulder, knocking them both down with him on top.  He raised the mace

_ No no no no  _ no no no STOPPIT stoppit STOP!” Buck panted, wresting the Soldier away from the front.  He looked down at the redheaded woman underneath his foot and knee, horrified, and dropped the spiked metal bar in his hand.  “I’m sorry, I’m 

The Asset took an arrow in the side, shook with the impact.  

Buck didn’t notice.  “sorry, I tried to stop him, I didn’t mean, miss, are you all right?”  

“Get off me,” she said, “and we’ll see.”

Buck clambered off, clumsy with only one arm, trying hard not to lean too hard on her-- she was a little thing, he must have almost crushed her!  She got to her feet pretty easily, though, and he turned his attention inside, to the Soldier.

Who was being held in place by Jimmy, which maybe he could have expected, but also by Bucky, which he hadn’t.  Bucky shrugged.   _ It’s not gonna work, AND it makes us look too dumb to know when we’re outgunned.   _

The woman was backing smoothly through the doorway, eyes on them.  “That’s a tranquilizer,” she said.  “It won’t do you any permanent harm.”

“If it does anything at all,” said the guy in the hallway with the bow and arrow.  “What kind of super-metabolism are you packing there, man?”        

Buck wasn’t sure what to make of that.   _ Well, we’ve been shot,  _ the Sergeant explained.   _ Dammit, this was a clusterfuck.   _

The Asset looked down at the arrow, fallen to the ground by the feet.  A small metal tube protruded from the ribcage, held in place by the thin needle going through the flesh, a trickle of blood making its way down the side.  Its subroutines whimpered about cutting, needles, pain, doctors, blood, but they never did affect the Asset’s actions.  It waited in place for orders.    

“Bucky,” the man from the bridge ordered, “get back.  Hawkeye, Widow, get out of there.”

The two agents exited the room, closing the door behind them, in the blink of an eye.  Which might not be that short a time, as the eyes were blinking slowly.  The Asset registered a numbing drug moving through the body, and waited to be ordered into a chair.  No chair appeared.   The man from the bridge was calling out, “Bucky-- are you all right?  Buck?”  The floor came up to hit the Asset in the knees, then the side, and the man from the bridge called louder, “Bucky!  Jarvis, how is he?”

“He’s breathing normally, Captain,” another voice said.  “His heart is beating steadily.  It seems the tranquilizer has taken effect.”  The eyes flickered open and closed, but simply took in grey carpet in front of the face.  The limbs slumped, unused, tension draining from them.  

“Okay,” the man from the bridge said.  “Is he conscious?”

“More or less,” the other voice said.  “He does not look distressed.”

“God,” the man from the bridge said.  “Okay, well-- ah, Jarvis, if you could record this, and play it back for him when he wakes up-- Bucky, we need to go for now, but we’ll be right here.  Just-- just call if you need me, and I’ll come talk to you right away.  Okay?”

The Asset was not capable of motion, and would not have had anything to say to that if it had been.  There was an electronic noise, and then relative quiet in the room-- just distant motors and fans, the sound of breathing.  

The Asset lay still.  Subroutines came out, and the Asset observed the flow of images and sensations, sounds and smells and motion.  These were not happening in the body now, but the difference was not significant.  They had happened in the body at one point, and it’s not like the Asset would react to them differently in the past or the present.  Without orders, the Asset simply lay still, observing.

There had been voices, other presences with the Asset.  The Asset was accustomed to another appearing to take over, intermittently.  No other seemed present right now.  The Asset observed new subroutines joining the others-- the sight of grey carpet, the sensation of dead, motionless limbs, the sounds of near-silent motors, the stillness out of which it could not break.  These subroutines could be categorized with others, ones that followed injury or drugs, ones that came with sensations of biting cold or empty darkness.  They were not far from subroutines that came with bound limbs, pain or the lack thereof, enforced stillness.  Empty laboratories, a chair beneath the back and head, a bite-guard in the mouth, and an endless time of lying still with the sounds of tapping keyboards and soft, terse voices.  An itching nose which could not be scratched.  A full bladder, and then warm wetness which gradually cooled, and itched, and could not be moved away from.   Stillness, when movement might have been better, but instead, stillness.  

The stillness continued.  It would be wrong to say ‘for a long time,’ because the Asset was not aware of time, of one moment leading to the next one.

The stillness continued. 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

_No no no no no let me out let me out LET ME OUT!_

Buck woke to the sound of Jimmy screaming, to the body echoing his fear and distress, if not the words.   _Whoa, whoa, whoa!_ he called, reaching out.   _It’s okay, calm down, it’s all right!  Just-- you were dreaming.  That’s all.  It’s okay.  Nothing’s going to hurt you.  Shhh._

Jimmy panted, the body following.   _Trapped-- I’m scared, I’m-- oh._ He took Buck’s hands.   _I’m awake?_

 _Yeah,_ Buck said.  He seemed to have control of the body, at least enough to lever it up off the floor, wrap their one remaining arm around the torso.   _Yeah, we’re fine.  Nothing’s wrong, everything’s okay.  Look around-- we’re fine.  It’s fine._

Jimmy sniffled, moved the hand, fanning the fingers out and rippling them to see that he really could move.  He looked around the empty room-- just the table, chairs, a blank screen in the corner, afternoon sunlight coming through the cracks in the blinds.  He got to his feet, shuffled over to close the open door, and look down at the box with a slim piece of metal protruding from it.   _That’s for us?_

 _Looks like it,_ the Sergeant said, kneeling to open the box and survey their supplies.  Ten MREs, apples, oranges, bananas, small wrapped bars labeled “granola.”  Chocolate!  Plastic bottles of juice and soda, one of them split by the metal shard and leaking orange liquid onto the socks, collared shirts, and trousers below.   _Damn._

The body reported hunger, but also dizziness and nausea.  The Sergeant stored the food out of sight, sorted sticky clothes from clean ones and took the former into the bathroom. _This was a real cock-up,_ he told them.   _This is what happens when you won’t coordinate._

Buck glared at the Soldier.   _What are you doing, attacking a woman?  And she’s a friend of Steve’s!  And she was just bringing us food!  Are you crazy?_

 _Does it matter?_ the Soldier asked.   _You stopped me._

 _And I’ll stop you again!_ Buck snapped.   _See if I don’t!_

The Soldier thought about the tactical situation.  Thought about what it meant to be compromised from inside his own head.  Said nothing.      

The Sergeant looked back and forth between them.  The Soldier, at parade rest, looked back, expressionless.   _Well, t_ he Sergeant said.   _Well, anyway.  Let’s get this mess cleaned up._

 _Yeah,_ Buck said, glaring at the Soldier.   _Maybe we’d have less of a mess in future if some people could realize when they’re outnumbered?_

The Soldier glared back, provoked.   _A mob’s not right just because they can yell louder._       

 _We’re not a mob!_ Buck said.   _We’re the people around here who have half a conscience!_

Bucky said nothing, but did raise his eyebrows.

 _Then you should understand sacrifices for the greater good,_ the Soldier said.

 _Okay,_ the Sergeant said, _okay, but if we could be practical for just a minute?  Soldier, what do you think is going to happen if you keep attacking them every time they open the doors?_

 _I’ll be able to assess their weaknesses,_ the Winter Soldier said.   _Eventually, I’ll find an opening._

 _Don’t WANT to,_ Jimmy said.

The Soldier considered.   _That will give them a chance to assess my weaknesses, though._

Bucky glared.   _Who’re you calling weak?_

 _Everybody,_ the Soldier said.   _If you look hard enough._

The subroutines rumbled in the depths.

 _Our weaknesses,_ the Sergeant said, running water into the sink and rubbing up a lather on the clothes with the bar of soap, _seem pretty clear to me. Trapped in an apartment.  One arm.  Only 23 weapons and seven tools, all of them jury-rigged.  And maybe you weren’t paying attention to the helicarriers falling, and all the explosions escaped your notice, but HYDRA is fucked_.   _We didn’t find an uncompromised safe house in all the time we spent wandering around (5 months 3 weeks 2 days 15 hours 49 minutes,_ someone whispered) _and we checked sixteen of them.  Not to mention the probably dozens of governments, secret organizations, and gangs who want us dead.  Or imprisoned, or vivisected.  We are in NO_ _shape to go anywhere._

... _that’s no reason to give up,_ the Soldier said.   _Just to be strategic._

 _I don’t want to go back to them,_ Jimmy said.   _I want to stay here.  I’m tired._

 _You’re sitting on a lot,_ Bucky griped at the Sergeant.   _What’re you doing, making the rest of us look bad?_

 _I do my job,_ the Sergeant growled.   _I’m trying to keep the rest of you ALIVE_ .   _You’re not helping._

 _Tired,_ Jimmy whispered.  

 _All right,_ Buck said.   _All right.  What should we do, then?_

 _I’m not sure,_ the Sergeant said.   _Cooperate, maybe?  The Avengers are powerful, and Rogers looks like he’s not going to let anyone else get us without a fight.  We could do worse than to throw in with them._

The Winter Soldier said nothing for a long moment.    

 _Yeah,_ Jimmy said.   _I want to.  I really want to._

 _Of course,_ Buck said.  

 _Why not?_ Bucky shrugged.

 _Soldier?_ the Sergeant asked.  There was no response.   _Winter Soldier?_

Nothing.

 _Don’t think we’re going to be so impressed with the strong, silent act,_ Bucky said.   _There are more of us than you.  We’ll just do it without you if we have to._

 _Mm,_ the Soldier said.  

The Sergeant continued to wash the clothes, rinse them in the free-flowing water (the hot never did seem to run out), and hang them up to dry on the shower rod.   _We can’t just not decide,_ he said.

 _We have decided,_ Buck said.   _Four to one.  Or four to two, maybe… um, does the Asset think?_

There was no response from the Asset.   _Not sure it works that way,_ the Sergeant said.

 _But you’re in charge,_ Bucky said.   _You’re our Sergeant, right?  We all have to follow orders, it’s the army life for me?_

 _Because you’ve all been so good at that,_ the Sergeant grumbled.  

They were interrupted by the Brit.  “Excuse me, sir,” he said.  “Captain Rogers and the team would like to speak with you.  Are you available?”

The Sergeant hung up a final sock.  “Yeah, sure,” he said.  

They returned to the “living room,” where the screen was lit up to show  a different room--plain walls, futuristic-looking table, chairs.  Steve was sitting in the middle, the rest of them arranged around him with a good view of the movie screen; Stark was sitting on the table.  The Sergeant went through and identified them subvocally, not that he thought the Asset was going to think of Captain Rogers as anything  besides “the man from the bridge” any time soon.

“So,” said Agent Romanov, “what was that?”

They stumbled for a moment, not sure who should be in front.  “I’m really sorry,” Jimmy said, and Buck flowed smoothly enough in after him, “miss, are you all right?”

Agent Romanov rolled her shoulder.  “No harm done,” she said.  “Why wasn’t there?”  

The Sergeant nodded permission.  “Because I stopped him,” Buck said.  “The Soldier was trying to hurt you, but the rest of us-- we don’t want to fight.”  He glanced at the Soldier for objections, got only a watchful glare.

The Avengers looked at each other.  “How’d you do that?” the thoughtful-looking Negro Avenger  ( _Sam Wilson,_ the Sergeant said, _and we don’t call them Negros any more, it’s rude)_ asked.  “How did you stop him?”

Buck wasn’t sure.  “We… grabbed him?” he suggested.  “Only one of us can-- can do things with the body at once, but it’s sort of like we can see ourselves in our mind’s eye.  Like when you imagine doing something before you do it, you know?  So a couple of us grabbed him, and took over, so… so we stopped him.”

“That’s a good trick,” the archer muttered.

“Buck...” Steve said, hesitant, “is this something they did to you?  Splitting you into parts like that?”

Buck didn’t know, glanced at the Sergeant.  “Not quite,” he said, the knowledge coming to him as he spoke.  “It’s something I did, so they couldn’t beat me.”  He wasn’t quite sure what he meant, was sure there was more to it than that, but it was the right thing to say.  He could tell by the way Steve straightened up and looked at him—for once, not like Buck was laid up in a hospital, all but dead already.

Agent Romanov nodded slowly, contemplatively.  “So the other parts, besides the Soldier—some of them aren’t under HYDRA’s control?”

“ _Those_ fascist fatheads?” Bucky laughed.  “I’d like to see them try.”  The Soldier raised an eyebrow.

 _You wouldn’t,_ the Sergeant said.   _You really, truly, would not._

“Is that a ‘yes’?” Miss Romanov asked.

The Sergeant hesitated.  “Of course it is!”  Bucky said.  “Come on, Steve, what’ve you been telling her about me?”

 _Bucky,_ the Sergeant said, _please don’t try to pick up Agent Romanov._ Internally, Bucky rolled his eyes at him.

“Interesting,” Miss Romanov said, showing no sign of being at all picked up.  “But the Soldier’s still present, right?”

“Right,” Buck said firmly.  Because Bucky could bluff all he wanted, but not if it meant putting people in danger.  He glared at the Soldier, hands in fists.  “I don’t know how to get rid of him.”

The Avengers exchanged glances.  “We’ve been exploring that,” the tense, soft-looking man in the back— _Bruce Banner, not soft—_ said.  “With your permission, we could invite a trusted telepath—Xavier maybe, or Grey—to look into the damage HYDRA did to your mind, and see what can be done about it.”

The Soldier tensed, and the body followed.   _Coward,_ the Soldier said to Buck.

Bucky glared.   _Hey, pal, YOU’RE_ _the one who doesn’t belong here!_

 _Not true,_ the Soldier said.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone else,” Buck said aloud, firmly, and Jimmy seconded it.  “If a... telepath can make me less dangerous, then that’s good.”

 _You won’t think so when someone’s attacking you,_ the Soldier said.   _Or when someone’s attacking “Steve.”  You’ll want me back, then, if I’m gone._

“Okay,” Stark said.  “Well, we can make some phone calls, then.  Do we need anything else from these gentlemen?”

 _I won’t,_ Buck said.   _I never needed you to protect Steve before, I don’t now!_

“Need, no,” Steve said.  “But... Bucky, if you want to—to talk.  I’ve got the time, if you do.”

 _Yeah!_ Jimmy said.   _Well—but also no.  Does he even still like us, like this?  I don’t know how to talk to him._ His lip trembled.   _I don’t know how to talk to Steve!  I’m... scared?  Of him?  That’s awful._

 _That’s ridiculous,_ Bucky said.   _Of all the stupid things, to be scared of Steve Rogers?  What do you think he’s going to do to you?_

 _Not like me,_ Jimmy whispered.   _He might stop liking me.  If he knew what I were like._

 _For fuck’s sake,_ Bucky snapped, _what do you think I’m for?  I’m not gonna let him find out!  Or at least, if you would quit whining and mewling like a half-drowned kitten, I can keep him from finding out._       

 _No, you can’t,_ the Soldier said, sharp and quick.   _He’s smarter than that._

“Or not,” Steve said after the pause outside the head had dragged for too long.  Buck hated the disappointed look on his face.

“Or not!” Stark said, brightly and quickly.  “That’s cool, you’re not going anywhere, you two can catch up after you all get your head sorted a little bit.  In the meantime, mi wifi es su wifi, we’ll go see a man about a mutant.  Or something.  Call if you need us!”

Steve shook himself.  “Call if you need us,” he echoed.

“No problem,” Bucky said, and tossed him a salute.  Steve returned it, like the overly-sincere sap he was.  The screen went blank.

 _This is dumb,_ Bucky said.

Buck agreed.   _What does it matter if you’re scared?_  he asked Jimmy.   _How do you think Steve feels?  Can’t you suck it up for him?_

Jimmy said nothing, mouth set in a mulish pout.  The Sergeant went over to the screen and tapped it to bring up the window, started reading the news.  Jimmy curled quietly into a small, sad, ball.  The Soldier drew back, hands flowing across his body, checking his weapons.

The Sergeant looked up, turned to the Winter Soldier.   _You’re planning something._

The Soldier gave him a look.   _Of course I am._

 _You’re not okay with the telepath,_ the Sergeant said.

 _Look,_ the Soldier said.   _Say that I believe you.  Say that you’re not outside interference; say that you really are inside my head, part of me.  What difference does it make?  What is a man if he can’t overcome his base instincts and his emotions, and do the right thing?_

 _Killing Steve is NOT_ _right,_ Buck said, again.

 _You_ _wouldn’t think that if you weren’t in love with him,_ the Soldier said.

Bucky leapt into the conversation.   _Shut up, shut UP, do you want someone to hear?_

The Soldier sighed.   _We’re talking silently, inside the head.  There’s no telepath here yet._ He considered Bucky.   _Although you’re right about that, you know.  If someone reads my mind, looking for my secrets, they’ll find ALL the secrets.  And report them to the Avengers, and probably write them down somewhere that won’t be nearly as secure as they think, given how the Internet goes everywhere in this tower.  And tell “Steve.”  Do you want him to find that out?_

 _He already knows,_ Buck said.   _You don’t know that?_

The Soldier blinked.   _I don’t remember everything,_ he said.   _Just what I need.  And I don’t need memory for what I can see with my own eyes._ He pinned Bucky with his gaze, intent.   _A telepath will find out EVERYTHING_ _if you let him.  Every squirmy, perverse thought.  Every act of cowardice.  Every stupid joke that wasn’t funny.  You won’t be able to cover for them anymore—a telepath will drag them all out, show them to everybody.  Everyone will know the truth about you._

Bucky backed away.   _That—none of that is as bad as them thinking I’m crazy!_

 _You are crazy,_ the Soldier said.   _Are you really kidding yourself into thinking you’re not?  You’re hearing voices, you lunatic!  Of course a telepath’s going to know that!  Of course he’s going to have you locked up._

 _Tony’s not locked up,_ Jimmy said.   _He said.  There are worse things than being crazy.  And it’s his building.  He won’t let them._

 _No?_ the Soldier asked, turning.   _Not for being crazy, maybe.  But definitely for being a murderer._

Jimmy blinked.   _I didn’t—Steve is okay.  And so is Agent Romanov._

 _Sure,_ the Soldier said.   _And they’re the ones you can remember.  But you know what a telepath will do?  He’ll find out everything I did.  You feel bad about horsing around a little, with fighters who can handle it.  What are you going to feel if he tells you about the people we killed?_

Jimmy wrapped his arms around himself.   _I—I’m a soldier!_ he said.   _It’s war!  You—you have to kill people, to protect your country._

 _I know that,_ the Soldier said.   _I believe that.  I’ll go one better; you have to kill people to protect the world.  To protect ALL the people, not just one country.  HYDRA’s making order out of chaos.  We’re necessary, if the world’s not going to tear itself to pieces.  No one death is more important than the fate of the whole human race.  I know that._

 _But if I weren’t here to know it, then you’d_ _have to deal with it.  Do you want to know about one of the people I killed?  I could tell you.  I could give you details._

 _Stop it,_ the Sergeant growled.   _What are you trying to do, bring our whole system down?_

 _If I have to,_ the Soldier said, _why not?  Better than letting all of HYDRA’s secrets be stolen from me and given to our enemies.  But I’d like to think it doesn’t have to come to that.  You’re the one who organizes us, right? But you were saying that you don’t have an overall strategy, a goal.  Well.  I do.  All you have to do is listen to me, and I’ll get us to where we need to be._

 _I—_ the Sergeant said.   _No, I’m here for all of us.  I can’t follow a plan that won’t work for someone.  That—that’s not what I’m here to do._

 _But you did,_ the Soldier said.   _Didn’t you?  You were here before any of the rest of them showed up.  You were here the whole time.  You know how good I am at surviving.  I’ve been in so many fights, and I’ve come out of all of them swinging.  Trust me.  Put them back to sleep, where they’ll be safe.  And then I’ll get us out of here, and the telepath won’t get any of us, and we won’t be hurt._

The Asset’s subroutines rumbled and howled.

 _Quiet,_ the Soldier ordered.

The Asset obeyed.

 _No,_ the Sergeant said.   _No, that’s not safe.  That’s not really safe.  The Asset got hurt, and so did you, actually.  You just don’t care, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen._

 _It means it doesn’t matter,_ the Soldier said.   _Look, healing serum or not, the body’s going to die eventually.  There has to be some purpose higher than surviving.  And I’m the one who’s holding it.  Listen to me._

 _No,_ the Sergeant said roughly, but then didn’t follow it with anything.

 _No!_ Buck shouted.   _Hell no, a thousand times no, absolutely NO!  I don’t care what HYDRA says, or what it’s doing, it’s not_ _ME_.   _I’m not a killer, I’m not a bully—and you’re being a bully, right now._

 _Five to one?_  the Soldier said.   _And I’m the bully?_

 _Look at them,_ Buck spat.   _Look at Jimmy!  The poor kid’s crying again!_

 _(Still not a kid_ ,) Jimmy sniffled.

 _You’re doing that!_ Buck went on.   _You’re hitting everyone in their weak spots, and then hitting them again when they’re down!  I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a bully.  Whoever you are, you’re not James Buchanan Barnes.  You don’t get to be in charge.  No.  No, no, no, no, not happening.  No._

The Soldier sighed.   _You’re so young,_ he said.   _All of you.  That—that’s school-boy logic, kid.  It kind of works in the school-yard.  But that’s because no-one in the school-yard has any real power, or can make any real change in the world.  When you grow up, it’s more complicated than that._

 _What do you know about it?_ Buck said.   _What do you know about anything human?_

 _What do you think humans are?_ the Soldier asked.   _We’re killers.  Always have been.  Always will be.  We can try to keep ourselves in check, we can point it in useful directions, but we can’t change that._

 _No!_ Jimmy said.   _I don’t want to kill anyone!  I don’t!_

 _You did,_ the Soldier said.   _If you’re saying you’re James Barnes.  Then you were a soldier a long time before HYDRA.  A Colt isn’t a cap gun._

Jimmy put his hands over his ears.   _No.  No.  No._

 _Bully,_ Buck spat.   _Lay off him!_

 _Then help me!_ the Soldier said.   _I’m trying to survive, Buck.  Are you really going to let a telepath come in and-- what, erase me?  Tear me apart to find HYDRA’s secrets, and then throw me away?  Do you really want to kill me for your own convenience?_

 _But,_ Buck said.   _But you can’t just-- you can’t just keep attacking people!  I can’t let you hurt Steve, Soldier.  I can’t._

 _So you’ll let the telepath kill me,_ the Soldier said.   _You’ll sit there and watch him dissect me, and then you’ll laugh when I’m gone.  Is that what you want?_

 _Stop it,_ Jimmy panted.   _Please stop.  I don’t know what to do!  I’m scared, I don’t know anything, I just… please, I hate this, please!_

 _Stop what?_ the Soldier said.  

Jimmy shook his head.  The body was quaking, curled into a ball.   _I don’t know!_

 _I’m just telling the truth,_ the Soldier said.   _Maybe you are like that.  Maybe you will all just sit back and watch him take me, because you don’t want to get your hands dirty.  Fine, then-- I can’t change you.  But I’m damned if I’m going to let you pretend it’s not happening._

There was a whimpering growling noise.  It was coming from the throat.  The face was wet, and the body was shaking.  The hand clenched around the flesh edges around the left shoulder, nails digging in for a grip where it caused the most pain, as the Sergeant struggled to regain some control of the situation.   _You’re not doing your job!_ he shouted.   _Of course none of them want to get their hands dirty-- that’s exactly what you do!  Keeping them safe from the knowledge-- that’s what you’re here for!  You’re asking them to do something impossible, they’re not built for that!_

 _They want to get rid of me,_ the Soldier said.   _So then they’re going to have to do that, aren’t they.  Either that, or help me get out of this.  No other choices._

 _We can’t!_ Buck shouted.   _We can’t get you out!  We’re all trapped here, you’re just hurting them for no reason, because there’s nothing we can do, even if we did want to help you!_

 _There is,_ the Soldier said.   _I know what we can do.  I know how to get out of this.  You’d just have to trust me, and do what I said.  And then we could go back to duty.  And you wouldn’t have to worry about anything, because I could just do what we need to do.  You can’t deal with this, it’s too much for you.  So you don’t have to.  Just help me, and I’ll help you, and we’ll be okay.  Just trust me._

Jimmy’s sniffling quieted, and he peeked out from behind his folded arms to peer at the Soldier.  Bucky buffed his uniform cap on his thigh, cocked his head, frowning thoughtfully. The Sergeant got the body to unclench, a little, enough to stand up again.  

Buck was stock-still for a long moment.  Then he shook his head.   _No.  No, Winter Soldier.  You want to hurt Steve.  I can’t trust you.  I can’t ever trust you._

 _Hypocrite,_ the Soldier said.   _Why is his life more important than mine?_

 _Because it is,_ Buck said.

 _No,_ the Soldier said, _look, you aren’t thinking clearly--_

“Excuse me, Sergeant Barnes,” the Brit said.  “Dr. Jean Grey has arrived at the Tower.  I believe she will be coming to see you shortly.”  

 _Dammit,_ the Soldier spat.   _Dammit, you weak-minded cowards, this is your last chance.  Come on.  Do the right thing.  Don’t just take the easy way out, don’t just stand there and let it happen.  Help me.  Please._

 _No,_ Buck said, and the body echoed him aloud, “No.  I won’t.  No.”

The Soldier stared at him, at all of them.  No-one moved, all watching the two of them.   _Fine,_ the Soldier said.   _Fine._

He drew a gun, put the muzzle to his temple.   _Hail HYDRA,_ he said, and fired.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m just not up for keeping track of in which version of what Marvel universe Jean Grey is alive, dead, or bloody furious. Assume that this one has been the Phoenix, and remembers it, but is right now living the slightly calmer life of an X-Man, researcher, and mutant rights activist.

Panic.

When the screen lit up again, they could have spotted Miss Grey as the telepath instantly, even if she weren’t the only stranger, because she was the only one who looked like she saw how bad things were.  Though Steve got it only half a second later, and went from nervous to battle-ready in an instant.  “Bucky-- what happened?”

“He’s dead,” Buck said blankly.  “He killed himself.”

“Who?” Stark asked.  “Which one of you?”

_ Wait,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ Wait, wait, let me think… _

“The Winter Soldier,” Buck told Stark.   

The Avengers traded looks.  “How?” Steve asked.  “Buck, did you beat him?”

“I--” Buck said, because he wasn’t sure.  “Maybe?  I don’t think so, I think he just… he didn’t want to be killed.”  

There was a pause.  “By someone else,” Miss Romanov said.  “He was trying to keep from being captured, and giving information?”

Buck nodded, not sure what to do besides tell someone who might, maybe, help.  

“So…” the archer said, “sounds like we’re  _ not  _ thinking this is a good thing?”

They stared at the space where the Soldier had stood.  There wasn’t a body, it wasn’t really a space, they weren’t looking with their eyes, and Buck wasn’t sure why that was what he was thinking about in this moment, besides that it was easier.  “He’s gone,” Jimmy whimpered.  

Bucky heaved with all his strength, pulled them out of it.  “Yep,” he said.  “He’s gone.  And I can’t imagine anyone’s gonna miss him, right?”  He looked the people on the screen dead in the eyes, projecting confidence, trustworthiness.  Gave them a small smile.  “Not with all the trouble he’s caused all of us.”  

“Maybe,” Steve said doubtfully.  “But… what does it mean, that he’s gone?”

“Well,” Miss Grey said, “Maybe that’s where I can help.”  She smiled at them.  Pretty girl, Bucky thought, and Irish as Barry Fitzgerald, for all that her accent was pure Fifth Avenue.  He smiled back.  

“Buck,” Steve said, “this is Jean Grey, from the Xavier Institute.  Dr. Grey, this is Sergeant James Barnes.”

“Call me Bucky,” Bucky said, and the Sergeant was paying enough attention to notice Stark perk up at the new name.  “Sorry I can’t come meet you in person.”  

“This is close enough,” Miss Grey said, but her voice was still warm.  “Bucky, do you know why I’m here?”

“You’re a telepath, right?” Bucky asked.  Girls liked it when you took an interest in what they do, made ‘em feel special.  Oh-- wait.  He tapped his forehead.  “Shouldn’t you be able to tell what I know just by looking?”

She shook her head, sending red waves cascading around her shoulders.  “Not without your consent,” she said.  “Captain America called me to help you, and that means it’s your choice what we do next.  I’m not going to violate your privacy.”  

_ Really?   _ the Sergeant asked.   _ You can’t hear me now? _

She gave no sign that she’d heard, so Bucky kept going.  “That’s nice of you,” he said, trying to get her to laugh, and she did smile.  “But I’m perfectly happy to cooperate.  It’s the only way to get out of here, right?”  Buck nudged him, hard.  “And the only way for any of us to know that it’s safe for me to.”  

“It’s a start,” Miss Romanov said.  Steve frowned, but didn’t disagree.  

“Then let’s start,” Bucky said.  “What do we do?”

“We sit down together,” Miss Grey said.  “Iron Man, can the camera change angles to focus on the two of us?”

Stark waved an assent, and the movie screen seemed to expand, so that Miss Grey grew to life-size, sitting in front of the body.  The Avengers mostly disappeared from view, and Miss Grey offered that they could leave if they wanted.  There was some noise of some of them doing so, and  it took the Sergeant a moment to realize that he was waiting for the Soldier’s objection to the reduced field of vision, to not knowing exactly who was still in the room.  Nothing-- a distant grumbling from the subroutines, but nothing clear.   

Bucky moved the body to swing a chair around and sit on it backwards.  “Be sure to sit so that you can relax as much as possible,” Miss Grey said.  “We might be here for a while; I’d like you to be as comfortable as you can.”

“Oh, thank you,” Bucky said, “that’s sweet of you to think of.  But this is fine.”  

Miss Grey raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more about it.  “All right.  So: close your eyes.”  The Asset closed the eyes, glad for a direct order, before she could continue, “Or if you’d rather not close your eyes, then you can focus on something still, like the floor in front of you.”  The Asset waited for her to correct it, but she made no such correction, so it waited for more orders.  “Pay attention to your breathing.  Listen to your breath coming in, and going out.  Let your breath slow down, deep and smooth and even.”  The Asset did so, focusing intently.  “Good,” Miss Grey said.  “Now, I’m going to start scanning your surface thoughts.  You might notice a sensation if you have any latent psychic abilities; let me know if it’s uncomfortable.  If you want me to stop listening and put my mental shields back up at any time, let me know.  All right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the Asset said.  These orders were very easy.  This agent was easy to obey.

_ Well, that’s creepy,  _ the Sergeant told it.   _ What about now, Dr. Grey?  Can you hear me? _

_ Yes, Sergeant,  _ the telepath’s voice said in their head.   _ Would you like me to answer out loud, or in your head, to keep your privacy? _

And again, the Sergeant was waiting for the Soldier to make a decision, to have some very strong opinion.  And again, nothing.          

_ Whichever,  _ Bucky said.   _ I don’t have anything to hide.   _

_ You’ll be telling the Avengers what you find anyway,  _ the Sergeant pointed out, in part to keep anyone from laughing at Bucky.   _ What’s the point in sugar-coating it now? _

_ Telling is different from showing,  _ Dr. Grey said.   _ I’m sorry; I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, and this can’t be a pleasant experience.  I just want to make sure that if there IS  _ _ anything I can do to make this less bad for you, I’m doing it.   _

Subroutines grumbled, about  _ showing vulnerability  _ and  _ if they know what you want, they can use it against you _ and  _ hurt hurt hurt.   _

_What IS_ _that?_ Jimmy asked.  He peered at her cautiously.   _You’re a doctor, right?  Do you know what that is?_

_ Not yet,  _ the telepath said.   _ I’d have to go in deeper to do that.  But first, I’d like to get a sense of who’s here.  Jimmy, right?   _ Jimmy smiled at her.   _ And the Sergeant, and Bucky, and… anyone else? _

_ Me,  _ Buck said.   _ Nice to meet you, ma’am.  Thank you for helping us make sure I’m safe to be around.   _

_ It’s my job,  _ Miss Grey said.   _ You’re welcome, Buck.  It’s nice to meet you all.  And… _

At this point, the Sergeant didn’t see much point in holding out.   _ There are some others who I can’t ever get a clear sense of.  They don’t talk enough; they don’t seem to have much personality.  And there was the Soldier, who’s dead.  And then there’s… that.   _

He pointed to the Asset, and Dr. Grey followed his gaze.   _ Oh, my,  _ she said.   _ Okay.  Hello, there.   _

The Asset said nothing, waiting for orders.  

_ Tell me about yourself,  _ the agent ordered.

This order was much more difficult, but the Asset obeyed.   _ There is no self,  _ it said.   _ A self would be a flaw.       _

_ He’s a real charmer, huh?   _ Bucky said.   _ Not really one of us, I don’t think.   _

_ Then maybe it’s what I’m here to find,  _ Miss Grey said.   _ Maybe it’s what HYDRA did to you.   _

_ Most likely!   _ Bucky agreed.   _ Think you can get it out of here?   _

_ No!  _ the Sergeant said.  

Fortunately, Dr. Grey seemed to agree.   _ Not without knowing what it is, what it does.  I need to go deeper into the Asset.  That probably will take some time-- do you want to take a break first? _

They all waited for someone else to have an opinion.   _ No need,  _ the Sergeant said.  

_ Are you sure?  _ Dr. Grey asked.   _ Your shoulders are stiff, and your back is hurting a lot.  Doesn’t that bother you?   _

_ It’s just the body,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ We can’t pay attention to that, we’d never get anything done.   _

_ Oh,  _ Dr. Grey said.   _ Okay.  Well, then.   _ She stepped towards the Asset.   _ I’d like to look closer at what’s going on with you,  _ she told it.   _ If you agree, take my hand.   _

The Asset took the agent’s outstretched hand, and waited for further instructions.  But instead of giving them verbally, the agent stepped inside of it.  The agent changed, now wearing skin-tight fighting armor, all green and yellow.  The subroutines cowered back from the invasion, and then moved forward, sweeping over the agent in a wave of  _ falling  _ and  _ pain  _ and  _ cold  _ and  _ hope-relief-rescue _ and  _ fear  _ and  _ fury  _ and  _ terror  _ and  _ pain  _ and  _ loneliness-alone-all alone-so alone-abandoned _ and  _ scared  _ and  _ horror  _ and  _ pain in the arm-- pain in the head-- pain in the chest-- tears-- swears-- gunshots-- horror-- metal-- cold-- electricity arcing around the clenching face-- a gun falling from shaking hands and the victim is saved from shooting but then they cut him again and he screams-- loud voices speaking German and insisting that they be understood even though it’s mostly gibberish-- quiet long hours alone alone no one there at all and hallucinating-- beating-- breaking-- lost-- alone-- lost-- pain pain pain pain always pain pain pain-- a head in a sniper rifle crosshairs coming apart in a spray of blood-- running over buildings not thinking about falling-- marching-- weariness-- pain pain pain pain pain PAIN. _

The agent fought her way free, standing again in front of the Asset.  She was panting, shaking.   _ Miss,  _ Buck asked,  _ are you all right?   _

Miss Grey shook herself.   _ I’m fine,  _ she said,  _ thank you.  Are-- how are you? _

They studied her, puzzled.   _ Nothing happened,  _ the Sergeant reported.   _ You stood there holding hands with the Asset and looking horrified.  That’s all we saw. _

_ Oh,  _ Dr. Grey said, shakily.   _ Well-- looks like your system is working pretty well, then.  And I’ve found out what happened to the Soldier.  Would you mind if I come out of your head enough to report it to the Avengers at the same time as I tell you? _

The Sergeant still didn’t understand why she kept asking.   _ Sure,  _ he said, opening the eyes.   _ Go ahead.   _

On the screen, Dr. Grey opened her eyes. __ “Dr. Grey?” Steve asked, as the camera pulled back to show the three Avengers still in the room-- Rogers, Stark, and Romanov.  “Are you all right?”

She looked amused.  “I’m fine,” she said.  “Thank you.”  

“What did you find?” Agent Romanov asked.  

“Give me a minute,” Dr. Grey said, and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.  “So, the good news is that most of what I found is a pretty normal multiple system.  Whatever HYDRA’s scientists were doing, it was mostly keeping the personality they wanted out front, and keeping the rest of them unconscious, but I don’t think it managed to actually destroy any memories or personality.”

“So-- he’s still him?” Steve asked.  “Sorry, Buck, didn’t mean that like it sounded, but--”

“Sure,” Bucky drawled, mostly because Buck looked at him imploringly.  “Whatever you say, Rogers.  My hurt feelings and I’ll be over here.  Suffering.”  

Steve choked a surprised laugh.  “Okay, point taken.”  

“He’s still him,” Miss Grey said.  “But just because he has all the old memories doesn’t mean there aren’t new ones.”  She blinked, her eyes cold and distant for a moment.  “We all change, with new experiences.  And not always in ways we would have wanted to.”  

“Yes,” Stark said.  “Certainly.  Gloom and doom aplenty.  Tell us something we don’t know.”

“I can do that,” the telepath said mildly.  “You’ve already met most of the well-defined surface personalities-- Buck, Bucky, Jimmy, the Sergeant, and the Winter Soldier.  The more complicated one is the Asset.  It’s what HYDRA encouraged to come out when they were… experimenting.  It’s a  simple shell, no real desires of its own except to follow orders.”  Steve looked grim, Stark frowning, Agent Romanov unreadable.  “It’s also the repository for all the shards of memory and emotion that were too painful to be experienced.  Everything traumatic, all the memories of being captured and brainwashed.  That’s also pretty standard for a multiple system-- memories get locked away until the person is somewhere safe and stable enough to process them.  Usually that’s many years of therapy, though telepathy can speed it up.

“The trouble is that when the Soldier killed himself, he didn’t die, exactly.  He split into shards, and the shards went into the Asset.  They call themselves ‘subroutines’-- I’m guessing because HYDRA talked about programming him like a computer?  So the Soldier’s memories aren’t destroyed _ ,  _ but they can’t be gotten at, either.  They’re stuck inside the Asset, and the other personalities don’t have a way of finding anything specific in there-- it’s all a mess of traumatic memories.”  

Stark was drawing diagrams on the table with a stylus as she spoke.  “So the Soldier is and is not gone?”

“Right,” Dr. Grey said.  At his look, “If you’re going to spend any time in other people’s heads, Mr. Stark, you have to get used to contradictions.”  

“Not really on my agenda,” Stark said.  

“What about his mission?” Agent Romanov asked.  “Was the Soldier the only one who wanted to kill Cap?”  

“Yes, of course!” Buck said, then waited for Miss Grey, who was really the one she’d asked.

“As far as I could tell,” Miss Grey said.  

“So…” Steve said, sounding like he’d like to believe it, “does that mean it’s safe to let him out?”

“Probably,” the telepath said.  “And, for the moment.”  She turned to address them again.  “The trouble is, the memory shards have been staying in the Asset because you’ve been in a series of dangerous situations, so you needed to not be affected by past traumas.  And maybe HYDRA reinforced the containment, so the old memories wouldn’t get in the way of their missions.  But it takes energy to keep them inside the Asset, and away from the rest of you.  

“So when you’re somewhere safe and stable, the memory shards will start to come back.  Maybe just in dreams at first, maybe when you’re awake.  Maybe just in flashes of sensation, or flashes of emotion, maybe more.  But they’ll keep coming, and they’ll do that until you’ve processed enough of the trauma to be able to handle everything that happened.  It’ll be easier if you’re seeing a therapist, they can teach you some skills to deal with them better.  Either way, though, it’s not easy to predict exactly what shards will come when, or how.  And it’s a very difficult process-- sometimes people get depressed, or anxious, or develop addictions, or hurt themselves.  For your own sake, you might not want to go too far from here.”

The Sergeant swore.  “Oh, come on,” Bucky said.  “You really think that I’m gonna crack up?  Just because I’m remembering things?  I already  _ lived  _ through them-- you don’t think I can handle just thinking about them?”

Miss Grey hesitated.  “I don’t know what you can handle, Bucky,” she said.  “I’m a neurobiologist, not really a therapist-- I’ve been inside a lot of people’s heads, and I’ve studied psychology, but I just know the theory.  But… I do know that remembering something can be harder than doing it in the first place.  Especially if you… weren’t quite yourself when you did it.”  

“Or even if you were,” Miss Romanov said.  The two women met each other’s eyes for a moment.  Buck paid attention, wondering.

Bucky didn’t.  “I’ll risk it,” he said.  “I’ve been stuck in here for days, now-- and it’s the 21st century out there, right?  What’s the point of coming to the future if all you do is sit in a room?”

“If it’s safe!” Buck interrupted.  Bucky glared at him.  Buck ignored him.  “If we can be sure he’s gone.  That I’m not going to attack you, or hurt anybody.”

Steve looked to Miss Grey, who nodded.  “All right,” he said.  “We can test it.  Jarvis, could you ask Bruce if he’d mind opening the door?”

“Certainly, Captain,” the Brit said from nowhere visible.  There was a pause.  “Dr. Banner is on his way.”  

“All right,” Steve said.  “Buck-- do your best not to attack our friend, okay?”

_ This is a terrible test,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ Even the Winter Soldier would have enough sense not to attack the fucking Hulk. I think.   _

_ What?  _ Buck asked.

The Sergeant considered him for a long moment.   _ Nothing,  _ he said.   _ Let’s… let’s see what happens.   _


	8. Chapter 8

Buck was not pleased with that answer.   _ Wait,  _ he said,  _ wait, wait, wait, if you know something you’re not telling me-- I don’t want to hurt anyone!  How many times do I have to say that? _

_ Relax,  _ the Sergeant said,  _ you can’t hurt Bruce Banner.  You’re fine.   _

_ But--  _ Buck said, and was interrupted by the sound of the outer door opening, and a knock on the shut inner door.  The Sergeant wasn’t sure who had closed it, or when.  

_ Come on,  _ the Sergeant said, and Buck reluctantly brought the body over to open the door from their side.  

On the other side was the quiet, rumpled-looking Avenger, the only one of them who always seemed to be dressed in normal clothes.  “Hi,” he said.  

“Hi,” Buck said, and Bucky sighed and took over.  “Thanks, pal!  Been stuck in there so long I was starting to wonder if there was anything outside at all.”

“I know the feeling,” Banner said.  He shrugged, then stuck out a hand to shake.  “Bruce Banner.”

“Bucky Barnes,” Bucky introduced them, because it  _ was  _ his name.  Their name, their real name that everyone knew them by.  Not that anyone was actually complaining, but these guys were real fussy sometimes.  

“Nice to meet you,” Banner said.  His handshake was gentle, controlled, not retaliating when Bucky crushed it a little.  “Steve’s told us a lot about you.”

“I bet he has,” Bucky said.  “That guy’s got enough war stories for a double bill.”

_ Wait,  _ Jimmy said.   _ Wait, when did we leave the room?  I still don’t want to leave there.  It’s quiet there.   _

_ Get with the program,  _ Bucky told him.   _ Also, shut up.   _

“Does he?” Bruce asked.  “Those, he doesn’t actually talk about much.”  

“Really?” Bucky asked.  

_ Steve doesn’t talk about the war to civilians,  _ Buck told him.   _ They don’t like it.  I don’t either, for that matter.   _

_ God, you’re a wet blanket,  _ Bucky complained.  “Well, that’s a waste!” he said, cheerfully.  “Get him to tell you about…” And hit a blank in his memory.  Right where that story was meant to be.  Nothing there.  “Them sometime,” he finished, awkward and annoyed about it.

“All right,” Bruce said agreeably, not commenting on the pause.  He stopped at the end of the hallway where there was a small panel in the wall, tiny green lights arranged in a square.  He pressed several of them, and the wall came open, huge metal plates, thick and heavy, sliding apart in an interlocking pattern deeper than his arm.

Bucky whistled.  “That’s a twenty-first century door?”

“That’s a Hulk-proof door,” Bruce said, walking over the metal-striped floor of the wide room beyond the doorway.  Bucky followed, Jimmy peering nervously at the grooves where the metal plates had retracted.  “This is the Hulk-proof floor we’re on; there are about four more layers to get back to the main tower.  We’ll be here a while.”  

“Huh,” Bucky said, trying to figure out a way of asking the question that wouldn’t leave him sounding like a complete rube.

Jimmy wasn’t patient enough to wait.  “What’s a Hulk?”

“On a bad day,” Bruce said, “Me.”  He smiled at them, and Buck noticed the tightness in the expression.  “Enormous green rage monster.  The reason why I got to be the one who came down and played tour guide for you.”  He looked them over.  “You don’t seem to need it, though.”

“I hope not,” Buck said, before Bucky could distract yet again.  “I’m glad that you kept us somewhere safe.”  

Bruce raised his eyebrows.  “‘Us’?” he said.  “You seem pretty comfortable with the whole-- being plural thing.”

“I guess,” Buck said.  “It’s how it is.  Whether or not I like it doesn’t make much difference, so I might as well get used to it.”  

They arrived at another wall, where Bruce entered a complicated code on another control panel.  This time, metal plates shifted in the floor to reveal a hole.  “It’s not easy being green,” Bruce said distinctly.

“Password accepted,” the Brit said.  “Thank you, Dr. Banner.”  There was a  _ whirr  _ of motors, and a staircase rose in the hole to meet their feet.  

“That password was not my idea,” Bruce said.  “Tony thinks he’s funny.”  

_ He is, though!  _ Jimmy said.  Buck just nodded sympathetically.  

“The thing about that,” Bruce said as they descended the stairs, “about getting used to it?  Is that you don’t have to, necessarily.  People with multiple personalities-- dissociative identity disorder-- that’s something they can cure.”  At the bottom of the stairs, he took an ordinary-looking key out of his pocket and unlocked a door.  “Careful, in here-- don’t step on the white squares.”  

“Got it,” Buck said, at the Sergeant’s prompt.  “Cure?”

“Psychotherapy,” Bruce said.  “There are therapists who can help you integrate-- fuse all the personalities into one again.”

_ Pay attention,  _ the Sergeant barked, and they focused their attention on setting the feet only on the black squares on the checkerboard tiled floor.  It gave them a few minutes of silence as they crossed.  On the other side of this room, Bruce rested his palm against a blank-looking wall.  There was a  _ ding!  _ and a section of the ceiling slid back to reveal more sliding metal plates.  “Tony, this is ridiculous,” Bruce said.

“Password accepted,” the Brit said, and a staircase descended from the ceiling, settling at their feet with a gentle clunk.  “My sympathies, Dr. Banner.”

“Which one?” Jimmy asked.

Bruce started up the stairs.  “Which one what?” he asked.

“Which personality,” Buck clarified.  “How do they decide which one is the real one?”

“Interesting question,” Bruce said.  “They don’t.  The idea is that they’re all parts of the real one.  None of them is more real than the others.  They’re only a whole person when they’re all put together.”

“What an awful idea!” Jimmy said, before anyone could stop him.  Not that they disagreed, but Bucky would have liked to sound less lame-brained.  “I don’t want to be fused into these guys!  I wouldn’t be  _ me.”  _

Bruce sighed.  “Yeah,” he said, “that’s why it never worked for me, either.  But it seemed like you should know about the option, at least.”  He reached an elevator at the top of the stairs.  “All right, this is the last chance before we leave.  Are you ready?”

_ No,  _ Jimmy said.   _ Yes.  No.  I don’t know!  No.   _

_ For God’s sake, kid,  _ Bucky groaned.   _ And before you give me that-- if you don’t want me to call you a kid, quit acting like one!   _

_ He’s got a point,  _ Buck said.   _ Steve’s been wanting to see us, you can tell.  We’ve got no business keeping him waiting.   _ “Sure,” he said, and Bruce opened the door.       

They stepped into the elevator, rode down so smoothly and quietly that they were barely aware of the motion until the slight jolt and  _ bing!  _ announced the doors opening.  The room they came out into was spacious and bright, with huge windows showing the cityscape beyond.  Several Avengers were there-- Miss Romanov and the archer with bow drawn, Wilson now outfitted with huge metal wings, a giant red-and-gold robot with one glowing hand raised.  Buck only had eyes for Steve.  He was standing, actually at parade rest ( _ He is such an apple-polisher,  _ Bucky observed), with his hands behind his back, eyes bright with hope and alert for trouble and so, so intent.  Buck met his gaze, and whatever Steve saw there made his eyes water, his mouth start to twist into a cautious, yearning smile.  “Bucky,” he said.

There was a brief scuffle at the front.  Bucky managed to keep anyone from just grabbing Steve and kissing him right then and there, but it was a near thing, and he couldn’t stop Jimmy rushing forward and throwing the arm around him.  Static from the subroutines cued the Sergeant to notice the other Avengers tensing, but they didn’t intervene.  And Steve just put his arms around them and held them tight, so tight.  They were back, back with him, could smell him and feel him and hear the hitch in his breath.  Jimmy sighed and shut the eyes, not wanting to move or think or have to do anything else, just feeling  _ home, home, home, I’m home.   _

“Hi there, Buck,” Steve rumbled, quiet and just for them.  “I missed you.”

“Yeah,” Buck murmured.  “I’m here.  I’m not going anywhere.”  He felt Steve shake, rubbed his arm up and down his back, wishing for two arms to hold him close.  “God only knows what kind of trouble you’d get into without me around.”

“Mm,” Steve said.  “Good point.”  He squeezed them tight again, then let go and stepped back.  They let him go, Bucky relieved, the others missing his warmth the second it was gone.  “Welcome back.”  

“So,” the robot said, and it was Stark’s voice, for all that it was mechanical and distorted, “this is good, right?  This is going well?  Everything you hoped for?  No superheroics called for?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Steve said, grinning like a marquee.  “Stand down, Iron Man.  Widow, Hawkeye, Falcon.”  

The Avengers relaxed, and the robot opened its ribcage to reveal Stark.  “Well, good,” he said, walking out and leaving the empty shell of the robot behind him.  “Welcome to Avengers Tower-- Buck?”  Buck nodded.  “Great!  Delighted to see you not-homicidal, it’s a good look for you.  How are you doing?”

Buck shrugged.  “I’m good,” he said.  “I really don’t see the Winter Soldier in here anywhere.  I-- I think we’re okay.”  

“I agree,” Dr. Grey said, entering the room with the long-haired, caped Avenger who went by the name “Thor” without any apparent irony.  “The Winter Soldier’s not one of the personalities any more; he’s not going to be capable of independent action.  You might want to be cautious about it for a while, but you I don’t think you have to stay locked in the room.”

Buck nodded. “Good.”

“So, then,” Stark said, “What do you want to do next?”

They waited for one of them to know the answer to that question.

And waited.

“You’re welcome to stay here,” Steve said, “while you figure it out.”  Stark nodded agreement, not that Steve even bothered to check with him.  “There’s no hurry-- you’ve got seventy years to sort through.”

_ Not that we can remember them,  _ the Sergeant grumbled.   _ But it’s a good idea-- somebody say yes.   _

Bucky nodded.  “That’d be swell,” he said.  “You got any rooms that aren’t stuck in the middle of a maze?”

“One or two,” Stark said.  “Also, I can’t help but notice you’re down an arm.”

“Oh, this?” Bucky said.  “Yeah, funny thing about that.  Guess it seemed more useful in pieces-- it’d jammed up on me, wasn’t doing any good just hanging there.”

“Well,” Stark said, “maybe I could give you a hand with that?”  

Jimmy giggled, but Bucky’s annoyance kept the mirth internal.  “If you have time,” he said, “Sure.  I’d appreciate it.”  

“No problem,” Stark said.  “I’ll just have to hunt up the bits-- Bruce you with me?”

Banner frowned.  “Tony, it’s-- it’s  _ your house.   _ It’s not even the floor you gave me of your house.  You don’t need my permission.”

Stark sighed.  “Maybe I just like watching you jump through hoops, huh?  Come on, indulge me.”

“That never ends badly,” Banner muttered, but he got up to follow.

“You want anything else besides your arm parts, Buckster?” Stark asked.

Bucky shrugged.  “I’m traveling light,” he said.  The Sergeant didn’t object-- the Avengers seemed to have plenty of supplies to go around, and Steve wasn’t going to let them starve.

“Cool,” Stark said.  “All right-- Cap, why doncha show him his floor?”

Steve blinked.  “Because I don’t know where his floor is, Tony,” he said, his voice markedly patient.  “Because I didn’t know he  _ had  _ a floor.”

“Sure he does,” Stark said over his shoulder as he started to walk away.  “The 37th, right under yours.  Got it set up when he showed up in D.C. last year.  Did I not mention?”

Stark arrived at the elevator and turned in that moment, just in time to catch Steve’s soft smile.  “No,” Steve said.  “You didn’t.  Thank you.”

Stark smiled back, bright.  “Any time!”  He slung an arm around Bruce, and disappeared into the elevator.

“All right,” Steve said.  “Dr. Grey, thank you  _ so  _ much for your help.”  He stepped forward to shake her hand, clasping it in both of his.  “Would you like to stay the night, since you’re here?  We have” he waved his hand to take in the tower which did seem, frankly, ridiculously opulent,  “plenty of guest rooms.”   

“Thanks, but no,” the telepath said.  “I’ve got classes to teach at the Institute tomorrow, and the flight back’s not bad.  If someone could just show me back to the landing-pad?”

“Of course,” Agent Romanov said, and Buck noticed the small nod between her and Steve.   _ Probably she wants to ask her about anything she didn’t tell us,  _ the Sergeant observed.   _ Probably he wants to know, later.  Sensible. _

Jimmy kicked a foot internally, dug his toe in the ground.   _ We’re the one he’s supposed to do that with.  Not some girl.  I don’t like it.   _

_ He needs a team,  _ Buck scolded.   _ We weren’t here.  And it’s not like he wasn’t like that with the Commandos.  What’s with you? _

_I don’t know!_ Jimmy wailed.   _It feels so weird with him now!  And I don’t know why, and I don’t know what to do about it!  It’s not SUPPOSED_ _to feel weird with him.  He’s STEVE!_

“Buck?” Steve asked.  “Do you want to go see your floor?”

Bucky widened the eyes.  “What-- he was serious?”

“Serious enough,” Steve said.  “Clint, Sam-- thanks.  Keep an eye on things?”

The archer tossed him a casual salute, and the Sergeant said,  _ That’s it.  We need to know what’s actually going on, here.  This is more complicated than just palling around with Steve.  _

They followed Steve into the elevator.   _ Ask him,  _ the Sergeant nudged.  

_ Ask him what?  _ Bucky asked.   _ Which of the million new and cock-eyed things that are here do you want me to show off how much I don’t understand?  _

_ I don’t know,  _ the Sergeant snapped.   _ I wish the Soldier were here.   _

“Buck?” Steve said softly.  They turned to him-- close, standing so close, and they were alone together, like so many times before, but so different.  “How are you doing, really?”

That was one of those complicated questions, and Jimmy didn’t want to say, so Buck moved to more important things.  “I’m okay,” he said, trying to be as solid and reassuring as he knew how.  “What about you?  I don’t remember doing it, but Steve, I know I hurt you-- are you all right?”

“Sure,” Steve said.  “I told you already-- I heal fast.”

“Not just that,” Buck said.  “ _ I  _ hurt  _ you,  _ Steve-- and it was the first time you’d seen me in a while, right?  I’m-- I’m sorry about that.  More sorry than I can say.”

“It wasn’t you,” Steve said.  “I knew it wasn’t you, not really.  I know you’d never do that.”  

_ Um,  _ said the Sergeant.

“I wouldn’t,” Buck said.  “I never would.”

_ That,  _ said the Sergeant.   _ Is not.  Quite.   _

“I know,” Steve said, warm and welcoming.  “ _ God,  _ Buck, it’s good to have you back!  I thought-- I didn’t think I could be that lucky.”

_ The thing is,  _ said the Sergeant.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy,” Buck said.  “Don’t you know that by now?”

_ God damn it,  _ said the Sergeant.      

“Don’t think I’ll be trying any time soon,” Steve said.  He put his hand on the shoulder, and the breath caught with his warmth, his closeness, the solid strength of him.

_ Don’t you fucking dare,  _ Bucky snapped, and the body tensed with the inner struggle.  

_ But he--  _ Buck said, looking up into Steve’s eyes.

_ No!   _ Bucky snapped.   _ God dammit to hell you fucking faggot, do NOT.  Leave my friend alone, and get your mind out of the gutter, and STOP IT.  God, I hate you, just leave it, for God’s sake, quit making a mess of everything!  Stop! _

The warmth in Steve’s eyes flickered, doubt starting to rise.  His hand slackened on the shoulder, not quite losing the contact, but not resting so easily there, either.  They stood for a moment, none of them sure what the face was doing, exactly, and Jimmy curling up and whimpering with embarrassment and awkwardness.  One of the feet took a step backwards, and Steve’s hand yanked off the shoulder like they’d burned him.  “Sorry,” Steve said.  

“No!” Buck insisted, and Bucky grabbed him, arms around his neck and his mouth, cut the damn words off before anything else could come out.  “For what?” Bucky tried, smiling, calm and as unbothered as he could get.

Steve shook his head.  “I’m not sure.  There’s  _ so  _ much to tell you, and I don’t even know where to start.  But it’s all important, and I’d hate to leave the most important parts for later, but I don’t want to swamp you with it when you’re… well.  Recovering.”

“I’m not crazy,” Bucky said, and swore at himself internally, because he needed to  _ stop saying that  _ if he ever wanted anyone to believe him.  “It’s me, Rogers.  You don’t have to pussy-foot around for fear of saying something that’ll set me off or something.  Say what’s on your mind.”  

“All right,” Steve said, and the elevator  _ ding! _ ed and opened on another spacious room, full of furniture and art that they’d bet had never seen a second-hand store in its life.  Steve stepped out, expression rueful.  “Well,” he said, “I guess I should start by talking about how things have changed since our time.”

The Sergeant was distracted by checking out the room, evaluating it-- a living room, clearly, given the soft plush sofa and chairs surrounding a colorful rug and carved wooden table.  Not the plastic and unweaponizable style of the room they’d been in before-- this was a warm, welcoming space, with as much metal and ceramic as you’d expect in lamps, tables, pictures.  An open doorway led into a kitchenette and a breakfast nook with windows overlooking the streets far below.  “Just that?” Bucky asked, while the Sergeant was distracted.  “Jesus, Steve, we’ll be here all week.”

“Very funny,” Steve said.  “All right, wiseguy-- some very particular things.  Me, for one.  Ways I’m thinking.”  

“Oh, well--” Bucky started, before Buck cut him off.   _ Quit it!  This sounds important.   _

There was a yelp from the subroutines.  The Sergeant looked around, but the eyes didn’t seem to be seeing anything out of the ordinary.  It was a new room, and they’d rarely looked out of windows this high up before, but it was just New York.  New to some of the rest of them, but he didn’t see why he should be concerned.  The subroutines crackled with static and the sensations of tensing muscles and quickening breath.

Steve was looking at them warily, like he was still waiting for them to finish the jibe.  Buck tried to school the face’s expression into its most attentive and welcoming.  Steve smiled.  “You know, for all that I’ve thought about what I’d do if I found you again, I never did get the wording quite right.  Anyway.”  The subroutines howled, flinching away from the windows, loud enough to drown out Steve’s words.  Buck shook his head, trying to concentrate over the noise.  Steve had that look he got when he was saying something he really meant-- almost expressionless, but his eyes focused on you, like you were the most important person in the world, and all he could do was tell you the truth.  And Buck was getting the sound of it, almost, the rhythm of his words, but not the meaning, because all he was hearing was the subroutines’ howling sirens  _ now now now now now!   _

“Bucky?” Steve said.  “You with me?”

Buck fought to get to the front, to answer, to try to say something, to wrest whatever bits of meaning he could from the scraps he’d heard of Steve’s words.  He still hadn’t managed it when the window exploded.                  


	9. Chapter 9

It was so  _ loud.   _ The window shattered, not like glass, but in smooth stripes, melted at the edges, flying through the room, bouncing off of Steve’s shield.  “Bucky,  _ duck!”  _ Steve yelled, and the Sergeant realized they were just standing there like an idiot, watching four figures swing in through the wide empty space where the breakfast nook had been.  They were wearing the over-bright outfits of superheroes, or supervillains, or whatever else people called themselves when they dressed up like leather-padded heavily-armed acrobats.  They were racing towards him, too fast to think, too fast to duck.  Jimmy was screaming, and the Sergeant didn’t know whether the sound was coming out of the mouth or not.  He flung them backwards, behind the sofa, heard something hit the wall above him-- bullets?  Darts?  There were crashing noises, a woman grunting in pain, the resounding ring of Steve’s shield bouncing off of metal.  Steve’s voice shouting, and they were just cowering behind the sofa.

_ Shit,  _ the Sergeant panted.   _ Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, FUCK!   _ The noises kept going, fast and hard, and one of the figures vaulted over the couch at them, all red and purple spandex and it would be ridiculous except that he was  _ on _ them, punching them hard in the face and sparking with electricity, stinging and stunning the Asset, and Buck was freaking out because they needed to help Steve,  _ now _ , they needed to get this guy off them, but they weren’t getting up, just cowering backwards, trying to cover the face and the belly and the balls all at once and it wasn’t working, he kept hitting them and shocking them, and the Asset was absorbing damage that might impede functioning.

_ FUCK!  _ the Sergeant swore, and reached into the Asset.  The Asset didn’t struggle, just opened up before him, and he grabbed whatever he could find and flung it out

_ dodge to the side kick out with both feet feel ribs break under his heels roll up and kick the face until there’s enough blood and whimpering to be sure the Mossad agent is down.  Roll to the side and bound to his feet and look around the Embassy keeping in mind that this mission is complete and the target eliminated and he needs to keep the mask on his face but there’s no need to hide the arm any more so he strikes the next agent but something’s wrong blows from the metal arm don’t seem to have any effect and the guns and knives that should be strapped to his body slip through his fingers but his right arm’s more than enough to grab the agent by the gun hand and throw her across the room and out the open window-- this might just be the first floor, but that should at least slow her down.  One more agent is down, there are two fighting across the room, so he pauses for a moment to collect a weapon, and when the one in blue falls, he smashes the other one over the head with the lamp.  The agent goes down, but there are reinforcements charging through the elevator door, and it is clearly time to get out of here, so he dives out the window _

before the Sergeant could get control again, pull him back,  _ stop him,  _ they were already gone, hurtling down towards Park Avenue, wind whistling in the ears and Jimmy’s scream ripping from the throat even as the Asset was absorbing this into a subroutine of terror and speed and wind-burn and the limbs kicking out frantically trying to grab something and hitting nothing, just empty air and wind and the street rushing up at them

and a sudden  _ thump  _ of metal body hitting them from above, metal arms clasping tight around them, the burn of the wind intensifying suddenly with the roar of engines close enough to be deafening and the ground was suddenly falling away, they were moving sideways and  _ up,  _ the body held close and tight and solid, pointing up into the sky.  “Where were  _ you  _ going?” said someone, and it was Stark’s voice, distorted and mechanical and right in his ear.  “I mean, I get it, who doesn’t want to play tourist in the Big Apple, but honestly, wait for the rest of the group, wouldja?”  

“Tony?” Jimmy panted.  

“Got your back,” Tony said, and then, not to them, “Got him, Cap!”   

They were  _ flying!   _ Jimmy stared wide-eyed at the buildings streaking by as they flew a wide circle around and zoomed towards the tallest tower, where a broken window stood out in the otherwise straight parallel lines of glass and metal.  It was almost scary, but thrilling at the same time, knowing that Tony’s metal arms were holding them tight and secure.  The window came up to meet them, and Jimmy felt the air rushing past them slow, its roar dimming until it was only an echo of the roaring in their ears.  They were back in the room where they’d started, but it was so different-- furniture smashed, Steve and Miss Romanov and the archer panting, crumpled bodies wrapped in bright costumes draped around the place.  Tony landed standing upright, and put them down, holding them steady while they got their balance.  “Wow,” he said, flipping up the face-plate from his robot suit.  “You know, I’m glad you like the place, but you couldn’t have waited a  _ little  _ while before you started throwing wild parties?  Or at least invited me?”

“You got here,” Jimmy joked back, panting.       

_ “Bucky!”   _ Steve charged across the room, stopped before putting hands on them, but looked them up and down.  “How badly are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Buck said.  

“You’re bleeding,” Steve snapped, in his Captain-voice.  “What are your injuries.  Now.”

The Asset knew how to respond to that order!  “Multiple electric shocks,” it reported.  “Burns to the shoulders, arm, neck, and abdomen.  At least one broken rib.  Bruising to the face, chest, back, abdomen, and thighs.  Lacerations to the face and chest.  Sprained toe.”  It finished the report and waited for further orders.

The man from the bridge did not give further orders.  “Oh,” he said.  “Well, that doesn’t sound very good.”  

Buck shoved the Asset out of the way.  “It’s fine,” he said.  “It’s not like I’m really feeling it.  Don’t worry about it.”  The Sergeant nudged him.  “Who were those guys?”

“Serpent Squad,” Miss Romanov said.  “They’re a mercenary group; might have some HYDRA connections, especially with Sin in charge.  Speaking of which, Tony, did you catch her?”

“Yeah,” Stark said, seriously enough for once.  “Not gently-- got her by the leg and tossed her to Thor when Stuka Barnes here took his dive, but she should be fine.”  He turned to them.  “So what  _ was  _ the plan, there?  Looked like you jumped.” 

“Not on purpose,” Buck told Steve, and then needed to think about how to explain himself.  “I-- I don’t know how to fight anymore.  But some of the shards” and Bucky took over before he could embarrass himself any further “are real brawlers, so I just tapped into that.”  

_ That is not a good enough explanation,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ Do I have to take over? _

_ God, you’re a pain in the ass,  _ Bucky complained.  “But I guess I got-- caught up in the moment.  Got confused for a second about how high up we were.  Whoops.”  He shrugged, cavalier, hoping like hell they’d buy it.  

“‘Whoops’?” Steve echoed, clearly not in the market for bullshit.  “It wasn’t just the height.  You were trying to use weapons you didn’t have with an arm that wasn’t there.  What do you mean ‘tapped into’?”

The Sergeant sighed and stepped to the front.  “I went into a memory shard of a different fight,” he said.  “We weren’t clear on when or where we were, or who you were.  But with the Soldier gone, that’s the best we can do to save our skin.  Or anyone else’s.”  

_ GodDAMNit,  _ Bucky complained.

_ Do a better job next time,  _ the Sergeant growled, stepping back.   _ Being in front is a privilege, not a right.   _

_ A better job of what?   _ Bucky asked.   _ You’re so worried about keeping us safe, you don’t think it matters at all how we look?   _

_ We jumped out a 37th story window!  _ the Sergeant snapped.   _ There is no way to make that look good!   _

_ Not like you let me try,  _ Bucky sulked.  

“What fight?” Stark asked.  “Do you get to pick what memory it is?”

“Some,” Buck said, stepping in while the others were busy.  “We-- the Sergeant knows the most, but he can’t really see into the shards in any kind of detail.  But there’s-- oh, jeez, someone else who doesn’t really have a name, who keeps track of time, and the Sergeant can use that to get roughly the time period.  And the subroutines are sort of, um, arranged by what’s going on in them?  So the Sergeant can pull up what’s probably a fight from about the right time, and hope that that’s close enough?”

_ Oh my God,  _ Bucky said, listening to this babble.   _ Shoot me now.   _

_ No!   _ Jimmy snapped.   _ No more shooting any of us! _

_ It was a joke, kid.   _

_ Not  funny.   _

“So,” Agent Romanov said, and it felt to the Sergeant like she was looking directly at him, as impossible as that should be, ““when you’re fighting some past fight, how do you see us?”

They thought about it.  “I’m not sure?” Buck said.  “I... don’t really remember.” 

_ Most people who we ran into in the past were enemies,  _ the Sergeant said quietly.    _ We weren’t a great team player.  _

Buck gaped at him.   _ But then—we’d just start fighting THEM! _ _ Steve and his friends!  We can’t do that! _

_ Do you have a better idea?  _  the Sergeant growled.   _ Because it was that or let the body get beaten to a pulp, and that doesn’t sound too smart to me!  _

“As allies?” Miss Romanov asked.  “As enemies?”

“I...” Buck said. 

“Couldn’t possibly—“ Bucky cut in. 

“Shut up!” Buck snapped, out loud, with the mouth and in full hearing of everyone they knew in this time. 

_ Much as reasonable people could hope that you would,  _ the Sergeant sighed. 

“Buck...” Steve said quietly, steadyingly.

Buck locked his attention to Steve’s face, an anchor point amid all the uncertainty.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I—I can’t promise that I’m not going to do anything stupid, if we get in a fight.  But I— I don’t have, I can’t have your back, otherwise.  I can’t remember  _ anything,  _ about how to fight.  It’s—it’s just gone.   I remember watching out for you, but I can’t—

“Sorry,” Bucky said.  “I just need a minute.”  And turned the body around to walk firmly away from them, looking out the hole where the windows used to be.   _You blubbering fucking pansy, what the hell is wrong with you?  Even if we WERE_ _gonna admit that to Steve, which I still don’t see why I would, why the hell_ _are you doing it in front of Stark and the rest of them?_

_ Who cares?  _ Buck cried.   _ Who gives a damn how I look?  How does that matter, compared to people’s lives?  _

_ Speaking of which,  _ the Sergeant said,  _ is anyone else interested in why the Avengers were waiting for someone to come try to kill us?  Because I’m wondering why the Avengers were waiting for someone to come kill us. _

They paused mid-argument.   _ That’s creepy,  _ Jimmy said.

_ True,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ But I can’t think how else they’d have been ready so fast.  Or why Steve left Hawkeye and Falcon on guard when he brought us up here.  Can we maybe agree that that’s a more interesting question than how we talk to whom?  _

They turned.  “How did you know,” the Sergeant asked, “that the Serpent Squad were coming?”

The Avengers exchanged looks, let Steve answer.  “We didn’t know it would be them,” he said.  “But The Winter Soldier’s got a lot of enemies.”

“He’s dead, though,” Jimmy protested. 

“They don’t care,” Miss Romanov said.  “Even if they believed it.” 

_ That’s not fair,  _ Jimmy protested. 

_ And...?   _ the Sergeant sighed.   _ What’s that got to do with the price of eggs?  _

“How much danger are we in?” the Sergeant asked. 

Steve straightened.  “We’ve been through worse,” he said.

“There’s this thing where you’re standing in a fortress,” Stark said.  “Recent uninvited guests notwithstanding, Avengers Tower’s got better security than anywhere else in the city, and I’m counting the UN and the Fed.  In the time you’ve been here, we’ve already turned back six different attacks, and we didn’t even need more than the usual security for three of them.”

“You didn’t tell us,” they said.  “Why.”

“You seemed busy,” Haweye said.  

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Steve said.   

“Maybe wait until you figure out who you are, first?” Tony suggested.  

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Bucky said, and nobody stopped him.  “What, did you think I’d be so shell-shocked that I couldn’t handle to hear that I might have a fight or two in front of me?  Was it really better to wait until someone bad enough to  _ do  _ something came along and got through?”

The Avengers, Buck noticed, were giving each other glances that seemed about half  _ told you so’s  _ and half  _ yeah, but’s.   _ “Maybe not,” Miss Romanov said.  “But it did make sense to not give you all the details until we knew which side you were on.”    __

There was the echo of a rumble of agreement from the subroutines, but the Sergeant didn’t care.  “And now?” he demanded.  

She studied them.  “Well,” she said, “what would you guess is happening?”

They thought about it, and while the Sergeant was having trouble remembering where he’d gotten all the information from, he remembered what he’d said.  “Probably dozens of governments, secret organizations, and gangs who want us dead.  Or imprisoned, or vivisected.”

“Good guess,” she said.

“Imprisoned?” Jimmy asked.  

“I have lawyers!” Tony said.  “Many, many lawyers.  They’re on it.”

“On  _ what, _ ” the Sergeant demanded.

Steve straightened his shoulders to deliver bad news.  “You’ve been charged with the murder of eighteen police officers in New Jersey.”

Jimmy gaped at him.  “Did I do it?”

Steve winced.  “Yes.”  

“Oh,” Jimmy said quietly.

“There’s also a Federal case,” Steve said.  “For the assassinations the Winter Soldier committed under HYDRA control.  That one will take longer-- they’re not even sure yet what they’re charging you with.”     

Tears welled up in the eyes.  “Who else did I kill?” Jimmy asked.

_ Get back here,  _ Bucky snapped.   _ Man up!  Quit crying, or I’ll give you something to cry about!   _

_ Would you stop?  _ Buck snapped.   _ Leave him alone!  It’s a big deal, no wonder he’s upset!   _

The Sergeant said nothing, but noted the Avengers’ faces.  It wasn’t a surprise that Steve looked on the verge of tears himself, or that Black Widow’s face was still and unreadable.  But Hawkeye’s poker face wasn’t as good as hers, and he looked distant, maybe more in memory than present.  And Stark looked… frustrated?  Some shade of angry, but not unsympathetic, maybe.  

“No one knows for sure,” Miss Romanov said.   “But-- a lot of people.”        __

Jimmy choked.  “Why?”

“Because HYDRA made you,” Steve said, firmly.  “Because you were kidnapped and brainwashed.”

Jimmy shook the head.   _ I can’t-- I don’t know what to-- I-- I can’t!   _

_ Got you,  _ Buck said.   _ It’s okay.  It’s not your fault.  It’s okay.   _

_ Then whose fault is it?  _ Jimmy wailed.   _ Why’d I let them make me do that?   _

Bucky crossed his arms.   _ Because you don’t listen to me.  Because you’re weak. _

“Buck?” Steve asked quietly.

Summoned, Buck made his way to the front, with only half a worried backward glance at Jimmy.  “I’m putting you in danger,” he said.  “I shouldn’t be here, not if it’s drawing fire like that.  I should be in jail somewhere.”

“No,” Steve said.  “You shouldn’t.”  And before Buck could argue-- “That would be a hell of a thing to do to those prison guards.  You think they’re ready to fight off supervillains?”

Steve did not look like he was in the right frame of mind to accept an ‘at least then they wouldn’t be hurting  _ you.’   _ Not that he was ever all that open to that line of argument, but Buck could hardly keep it from coming to mind.  He shook the head.  “I could surrender myself, though,” he said, before the Sergeant could hit him upside the head and stop him.

“To which ones?” the archer asked.      

Stark picked up the argument.  “Like you said, there’s dozens of groups of them out there.  How do you pick?”

Buck hung on.  “Does it matter?   At least then they’d leave you alone.”  

“But not the civilians,” Steve said.  

Miss Romanov finished the rest of his thought.  “They’d fight each other trying to get to you, and they wouldn’t care who got in their way.  It’s a coup to snatch the Winter Soldier out of Avengers Tower: it would be even better to take him from people sharp enough to do that.”

The Sergeant nodded the head firmly.  “You’re right,” he said.  “You’re right, I just,” he reached out for Jimmy, “don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

Jimmy flinched away from him.   _You just don’t want US_ _to get hurt,_ he sniffled.   _You don’t care about anyone but us._

_ I care that you care,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ It’ll hurt you if Steve dies, right?   _

_ Yes!  _ Jimmy said.   _ But not just Steve.  People!  I don’t want people to die!   _

_ Well,  _ the Sergeant said,  _ we’ll see what we can do.   _

Jimmy whimpered.  

“We’ll do our best,” Steve said.  “Tony’s right-- his security forces are good people.  They know what they’re doing.  And our team’s solid.  We can watch out for bystanders, and we can protect you.”

Bucky tried to cross the arms, missed, put his hand on his hip like he’d meant to do that all along.  “Great,” he said.  “I just love being dead-weight.  It’s the best.”

“If your other option is dead?” Steve said.  “I’ll take it.”  

 


	10. Chapter 10

After that came a lot of picking up the pieces.  Steve brought them to a medical lab, where the Asset quietly accepted the fact that oddly enough, these doctors’ poking caused  _ less  _ pain overall rather than more.  The man from the bridge tried to talk to them while the doctors were working, or afterwards when they were eating, but he wasn’t giving orders, and his questions weren’t clear, so the Asset just waited for him to say something it could understand.  Eventually, he fell quiet.   


Repairs complete, the man from the bridge escorted the Asset to the lab they’d seen on the screen.  Loud music blasted the air.  “Tony?” he called.  “We’re here.”

The music’s volume dropped.  “All set!” the mechanic called back.  The arm rested on a workbench behind him, so the Asset knew it was still time for it to be taking damage.  The body was moving awkwardly without the accustomed weight of the arm, so its replacement would improve the body’s functioning.  That was the important thing.  The Asset followed the man from the bridge obediently to the workspace, and looked for a chair.  Nothing was there with adequate restraints, so it waited instead for further orders.  

“There’s-- something strange,” the man from the bridge said.  “Dr. Cho noticed it.  The place where the… where the metal prosthesis meets his shoulder-- it’s not old scar tissue.  She thought it was the… serum, its effects, mean that he keeps healing.  All the time.  That’s how they could make the arm work with 40s technology, it’s, it’s a live nerve.  Because they didn’t care how much he… hurt--”

“Whoa,” the mechanic said, coming around the bench, putting his hands on the man from the bridge’s shoulders.  “Whoa, okay, that is fucked up, yes.  But we can do something with it, right?  We can figure things out.  Dr. Cho is great, and I’m great, and if we need someone else who’s great with prosthetics in particular, we can get them, because I can just throw money at them until they surrender.  Okay?  We’re gonna fix it…. Steve.  We  _ are  _ gonna fix it.”

“You can’t,” the man from the bridge said, “fix everything.”  

“Well,” the mechanic said.  “Maybe not.  But I can damn well  _ try.”   _

The man from the bridge took a deep breath.  “Yeah. We can.”  

“Okay, whew,” the mechanic said.  “That better?  You back?  Because if  _ I’m  _ the optimist here, something is seriously wrong.  Captain Motherfucking America.”

“You’re still not gonna win that argument,” the man from the bridge said.  He leaned into the mechanic’s hands, closed his eyes, sighed.  “Okay.  Bucky?  Buck?”  The Asset continued to wait for orders.  “I… don’t know what happened, but he just kind of… blanked out, as soon as we got to Medical.”

“Dissociation,” the mechanic said.  “Don’t you ever listen to your nice shrink?”       

“Pot,” the man from the bridge said.  “Kettle.”

“Just because I don’t  _ obey  _ doesn’t mean I don’t  _ listen,"  _ the mechanic said.  “They went to school for a long time!  The least I can do is take advantage of that.  Hardly seems polite not to.”  

“You are very polite,” the man from the bridge said.  

“The politest!” the mechanic said.  “Iron Manners, that’s what they call me.”  

“Do they,” the man from the bridge said.  The subroutines rustled, but saw no real sign of anger and danger.  Less than before they arrived at the workspace, actually.  “So then, what, he needs to ground?  But he didn’t seem to be hearing me when I tried doing grounding exercises.  I’m not sure he’s hearing at all.  Bucky?”  The Asset waited.  “Dammit.”  

“Hm,”  the mechanic said.  “Well, that’s kind of a dilemma, isn’t it?”  He faced the Asset head-on.  “I don’t think I wanna be poking around in your fleshy bits when you’re not here to say yes or no, but if we don’t know how to get you back… hm.  You want to hang out here for a while?  I’d send you back to your room, but your guests pretty much trashed it, and it’ll be a few hours before the contractors finish fixing it up again.”

The man from the bridge sighed.  “Yeah, okay,” he said.  “Bucky-- have a seat.”  The Asset took the seat he indicated on a low couch, and waited.  The couch did not extend restraints.  The Asset sat.  The man from the bridge sat down at a workbench, and pulled up text on a virtual screen in front of him.  The mechanic moved across the room, seeming to be occupied with something other than the arm.  They both kept glancing at the Asset, and each other, but they didn’t speak.  The Asset settled into a waiting mode.  

Time passed.   _ (45 minutes 17 seconds.)   _ A voice came over a speaker.  “Captain Rogers?  I’m sorry to interrupt, but Ms. Hill is ready to report about today’s breaches.”  

The man from the bridge startled.  “Oh!  Right.”  He looked at the Asset.  “Bucky?”  The Asset waited.  “Damn.  I should go…”

The mechanic waved a grease-spattered hand, not looking up from his work.  “No worries!  We’ll be fine.”               

The man from the bridge rose slowly.  “I… all right.  Bucky?  I’ll be back, okay.  Just tell Jarvis to call me if you need me.  Okay?”  The Asset waited.  “Well.  Okay, then.”  He turned and walked out the door.  

The Asset waited.  The mechanic continued his work, occasionally muttering to himself.  Time passed.   _ (10 minutes, 38 seconds, 39 seconds, 40 seconds…) _

“Huh!” the mechanic said.  He put down his tools, and came to stand in front of the Asset.  “Hey,” he said.  “Are you the Asset?”

A clear question!  “Yes,” the Asset said.

“Hm,” the mechanic said.  He studied them, pinching his bottom lip.  “So…  _ are  _ you paying attention to what’s going on, then?”

“Yes,” the Asset said.  

The mechanic murmured thinking noises.  “Oh, shit.  Jarvis, did we say anything terrible about him just now?”

“Not particularly, sir.”

“Well, that’s good.  I think.  So, the Asset-- is it ‘the Asset,’ or just ‘Asset’?”

The Asset waited for clarification.

“Okay, well, never mind.  Do you want anything?”

“No,” the Asset responded correctly.

“Where’d everyone else go?” the mechanic asked.  “Like, the rest of you.  Buck and Bucky and so forth.”  

The Asset blinked.  Answering incorrectly brought punishment.  Not answering a direct question that it should know how to answer brought punishment.  Either way, the subroutines were howling-- not that they’d stopped howling since it entered the workspace, but they could always howl more loudly.  “They are gone,” it said.  “I do not need a treatment to make them go.”

“Gone?” the mechanic asked, his voice rising in pitch.  “Like, permanently gone?  What happened?  They were here an hour ago!”

The subroutines flinched from his anger.  The Asset waited for punishment.  

“Or,” the mechanic said, “or, did you mean, like, just not here for the moment?  Dissociated, stepped out, whatever?  Gah, it is so confusing in your head, you know?  Well, you probably do.  Although I’m hoping you’ve got it mapped better than we do.  But I do think we need an answer to this question.  Because frankly, if he left you with me for five minutes and I broke you, Steve is going to  _ kill  _ me.  Um, not literally.  No literal killing.  No billionaires were harmed in the making of this motion picture.  I’m hoping that was clear.  Say something.”

“Something.”  

“Yeah, I walked right into that one.  Look.  Um, no offense to you, I’d be glad to chat sometime, but I really do need to find out-- is there anyone else in there who wants to come talk?  I promise I’m not gonna give you a ‘treatment’ or whatever other medieval brain tinkering they usually do to you.  You’re safe, well, I mean, as safe as anybody gets.  I just want to talk.”

The Asset waited.  

“No?” the mechanic said.  “That’s cool.  That’s totally fine.  I’m gonna, like, go over here and panic quietly in a corner for a while.  Yeah.  Jarvis, can you maybe real-quick call Phoenix for me, see if she’s free?” 

“Given the speed at which she departed, I would estimate that Dr. Grey is approximately 92% of the way back to Westchester, sir.  Do you wish her to return?”

“Ummm,” the mechanic said, and examined the Asset visually.  “No, that means it’d actually be faster for her to land and us to pick her up in the Quinjet than for her to turn around.   I’ll just… wait, I guess.  Right?  And hey, maybe you’ll come out to play then, and let me know you guys are still here?  No pressure.  You catch more flies with honey and so forth?  That’s completely incorrect, actually, flies go nuts for a good balsamic.  Smart flies.  Anyway!  I’ll be over here.  If you want to talk.  Or anything.”                   

The mechanic returned to his work.  The subroutines faded slightly, their roars quieting.  No damage was happening at this time.  Damage happened in workspaces,  medical labs, and training rooms.  But damage could also happen in any other place and at any other time.  So it might be possible for not-damage to happen in a workspace.  The mechanic had suggested not-damage.  Verbal descriptions of  what damage would or would not happen were not reliable predictors.  The correct course of action would be to assume that damage was coming. 

The lack of damage continued, and alertness began to fade.  The subroutines were shifting, settling, quieting.  The workspace pulsed steadily with the beat of the music, the  only other sound the mechanic muttering to himself, tapping at virtual screens, and glancing quickly at the Asset and away.  The lack of damage continued. The subroutines quieted.

_ Oh, hey,  _ Jimmy said,  _ it’s Tony!    _ “Hi, Tony!” he said.

Tony glanced up quickly.  “Hi, yourself!” he said, and dropped what he was working on to come over.  He was wearing a sleeveless shirt, leaving the muscles of his arms bare,  and there was machine oil on his hands.  “How’s it going?”   


“Pretty good,” Jimmy said, looking around at the lit-up displays and robot parts and strange, shining metal tools.  “Hey, is this your secret lab?”

“One of them,” Tony said.  “Arguably the best one.  This one’s got marshmallows to toast over the arc welder.” 

“Neat,” Jimmy said, grinning.  “I love those.”

“Well, that’s only sensible of you,” Tony said.  He cocked his head, eyes bright and curious.  “So-- have we met before?”

“I’m Jimmy,” Jimmy said, putting out the hand.  Tony shook it, hand warm and rough, solid in theirs.  “I’m not actually a kid.”

“Duly noted,” Tony said, and Jimmy thought he was laughing a little, but not in a mean way.  “Good to meet you.  How’re your roommates doing?  Everyone okay in there?”

“Oh, sure,” Jimmy said, with a quick glance to the Sergeant.  “I guess we’ve been asleep, mostly.  Except for the Sergeant.  I don’t think he sleeps.”

_ Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you knuckleheads,  _ the Sergeant grumbled.

“Good!” Tony said.  “Great.  I wasn’t sure-- well, anyway.  Asleep.  Okay.  That’s what’s going on when one of you guys is talking?  Everyone else is asleep?”

Jimmy shrugged.  “Kinda?  Sometimes we’re around, but not in front.”  He grinned.  “You can’t ask me what’s going on when I don’t know what’s going on-- that doesn’t make any sense!”

Tony chuckled, wry.  “Yeah, point.  Can’t argue with that.”  \

Jimmy got up from the couch, looked around the lab.  “This place is amazing. Is this where you built your robot suit?”        

“The Iron Man armor,” Tony said.  

Jimmy nodded eagerly.  “It’s incredible.”  He turned to Tony, liking the curiosity in his eyes, the warmth, the way he caught Jimmy’s energy and fed it back to him.  “This is how I know it’s  _ really  _ the future, huh?”

“Here more than most places,” Tony murmured, smiling.        

Jimmy laughed.  Then thought about it.  “I can’t tell if you were kidding or not.”  

“Some of Column A,” Tony said, “Some of Column B.  That was also a joke, um…”   
  
“Chinese food,” Jimmy said.  “I know.”

“Wait, is it?” Tony asked.  “Oh, yeah, so it is.”

Jimmy nodded eagerly.  “Yeah, of course!  There  _ is  _ still Chinese food in the future, right?  I haven’t had chop suey in  _ forever.”   _

“There is plenty of Chinese food, yes,” Tony said.  “The chop suey might be a  _ little  _ bit more difficult, but we’ll see what we can do.”  He studied them.   “Jimmy-- you sound a lot better than last time I saw you?  If that was you, before?  Talking about, um, you know, the assassinations and so forth.  Actually, shit.   _ Do  _ you know?  Was that somebody else?”

Jimmy thought back.  “No, that was me,” he said slowly.  It seemed so long ago.   _ (7 hours 9 minutes 15 seconds  _ someone whispered.)  “I guess… I guess I was real upset?  But it’s not then any more, it’s now.  And right now I’m talking to you, and looking around your lab, and maybe you’ll show me your robots?”  He winked at Tony, who shook his head, but not in a disagreeing way.  

“Oh, I can show you robots,” Tony said.  “Not to worry.  Never let it be said that a guest in my house went away unsatisfied by their robot experience.” Behind him, a mechanical arm waved, much to Jimmy’s delight.  “And on the one hand, I’d like nothing better than to play tour-guide, but on the other hand, I have a dilemma.  Besides that one.  I am dilemma-addled.”  

Jimmy cocked the head.  “That sounds painful.”

“Extraordinarily,” Tony said.  “Here is my dilemma: we brought you down here for a reason, but the last time we tried talking about it, the Asset showed up and that guy I’m sure has many sterling qualities but witty repartee and a thorough understanding of the concept of consent are not among them.  So I could hardly get a straight answer from  _ him  _ about whether something was okay.  But if I ask about it again, will you and the rest of your buddies vanish again and leave me and him all alone?”

Jimmy hesitated.   _ Sergeant?   _

_ Here,  _ the Sergeant said,  _ you can relay this:   _

“You want to put the arm back on,” Jimmy repeated.  “We want it back, but it’s the Asset’s job to take the damage when the body gets worked on.”  He frowned.  “Like… gets hurt?”  

_ Yep,  _ the Sergeant said.

_ That’s not fair!  _ Jimmy said.

_ Nope,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ It’s what we’ve got, though.  Hardly fair that you get all the grief, either, but what are you gonna do?   _

“Jimmy?” Tony asked.

Jimmy shook the head.  “Sorry!  I guess… we all have different jobs.  And it’s the one who has that job, because the Sergeant doesn’t think the rest of us could do it."    


“That job,” Tony repeated.  “You mean—what, like, feel pain?”  Jimmy nodded.  “Okay.  Well... does it make any difference if this does  _ not  _ involve horrific agony?  I mean, I can’t promise a walk in the park, but we could at least get you some anaesthetic or something.  Jesus.” 

“That sounds better,” Jimmy said.  “I mean—I don’t think that the rest of us would have to go away if we’re not hurting?  I don’t know... the Sergeant doesn’t remember a time when the arm got worked on that didn’t hurt like that.”

“That’s terrible,” Tony said.

Jimmy thought about it for a moment, and felt the face crumple up.  “Yeah!” he whimpered. 

Tony panicked.  “Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—shit, don’t cry, it’s okay, it’s over, it’s okay, it’s not happening now, you’re in New York in the Avengers Tower in my lab, with the marshmallows, you like those, right, do you want some, oh my God, are you okay?”

Jimmy shook the head.  “Can I have a hug?”

“A... hug?” Tony said, as if it were a foreign concept.  “Yeah, sure, um.”  He looked them up and down, then nodded decisively and came over to them.  He put his arms around them cautiously, but when Jimmy just leaned into him and put the arm around him, Tony brought his arms up around the back, strong and warm and solid.  “You’re okay,” he said, more softly.  “We’re going to keep you safe.  I promise.  They’re not getting you without going through us.  We’ve got you.” 

Jimmy sighed, rested some weight against Tony’s sturdy chest, feeling him breathing.  He couldn’t feel Tony’s heartbeat, and wanted to, but he was there, holding on, not going anywhere.  “It’s scary,” he said.  “And it’s sad.  And it’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” Tony agreed.  “It is absolutely not.”

Jimmy sniffled, wiped the nose on the back of the hand.  Tony moved slightly away, and Jimmy ached at the loss, not ready yet to stop being hugged, but maybe a little more uncertain than he was sad.  “Thanks,” he said.

“Anytime?” Tony said, like he was trying the idea on for size.  “I mean, if a man wants a hug, he should have a hug.  That’s, like, in the Constitution somewhere.  I’m pretty sure.  I’ll get Legal on that.” 

Jimmy snorted.  “Really?”

“No,” Tony said.  “No, that’s a very important thing to know around here.  I’m only serious when I’m serious.  Otherwise, it is a completely different matter.”  Jimmy grinned at him, and Tony blinked.  “Oh,” he said.  “Hoo boy.  Okay.  Well.  Arms!  An arms deal.  We were talking about that.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, amputee chic, totally works for you, but.”  He stopped talking, took a deep breath.  “Would you like me to put your mechanical arm back on you, Steve’s very best and most traumatized friend?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said.  “That’d be swell.” 

“Right!” Tony said, and moved away from them quickly.  The subroutines twitched.  “So, anyway,” he said, walking towards the table where the arm lay, “I managed to fit it back together, although some of the pieces were hidden  _ really  _ well, all my compliments to the late lamented Soldier.  Some of the pieces were pretty bent and battered to make them into weapons or tools, that’s really clever, I’m quite impressed, actually, and impressing me is not the easiest thing in the world, so you should consider yourselves complimented.  Huh, there’s a question—are all of you as smart as each other?  Because this was really creative.” 

“I don’t know,” Jimmy said.  “Maybe?”

“Well, fair enough,” Tony said.  “We can always run tests later if we’re really curious.  If you want.  Anyway!   I managed to get it back into the shape it was in when you first got here, and a little better, seeing as how it should be working now.  Think you’re up for a little testing it out, or is that a no-go?”

_ You’re not going to be able to stay in front once he picks up the arm,  _ the Sergeant told Jimmy, urgent.   _ Warn him.  _

“I’m... not sure?”  Jimmy said.  “I mean—it’s fine, for you to do whatever will make the arm work.  That’s what we want you to do.  Um, even if, say, I go in back or go to sleep or whatever, and the Asset comes out.  Which, um, might happen?  If you try to put the arm on.  Because I don’t know, I guess we’re really used to the Asset doing that?”

Tony nodded, frowning sadly.  “But you’re sure.  You want the arm back on?”  Jimmy nodded.  “Is there any way of finding out if I’m hurting the Asset?”

“You could ask it,” Jimmy repeated the Sergeant’s words.  “It’s good at following orders to report physical damage.” 

“Oh,” Tony said, not sounding happy, “good.” 

“Tony?” Jimmy said.  Tony met his eyes, alert.  Jimmy swallowed.  “If I do go back to sleep—thanks.  It’s good to talk to you.”

“You, too,” Tony said.  “Anytime.”  He stepped back.  “All right, well.  Nothing ventured, nothing gained.  Let’s give this a shot.”  He walked toward the bench, and picked up the arm in both hands.

The Asset waited patiently for the mechanic to continue repairs. 

The mechanic approached.  “Okay,” he said.  “How are we doing?  Jimmy?”  The Asset waited for clarification.  “Oh.  Um, okay.  Are you the Asset now?”

“Yes,” the Asset confirmed.  

“Ah,” the mechanic said.  “Well.  Maybe that’s for the best.” 

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

Deep inside of them, Jimmy skipped up to the others, leaving the Asset out front.   _Hi!_

 _Hi there,_ Buck welcomed him.  The Sergeant nodded.  Bucky glared.

Jimmy sat down next to Buck, snuggled up to him.   _Thanks!_ he said.   _For letting me have so much time up front to talk to Tony.  It was so great!_

 _Wasn’t my idea,_ Bucky growled.   _You sounded like a complete moron.  A hug?  What the hell?_

 _Well,_ Jimmy said, _he IS gorgeous._

There was a moment of silence.

 _Told you I wasn’t a kid,_ Jimmy said.  

 _Um,_ Buck said.

 _Holy shit,_ Bucky said, horrified.   _It’s Fag and Fag Junior.  What the hell?_ He turned to the Sergeant, frantic.   _Are we the only normal ones in here?_

 _Don’t look at me,_ the Sergeant said.   _I don’t have time for that nonsense.  I have enough problems keeping us in one piece without the added complication of wanting to kiss anyone.  And so forth._

 _No so forth!_  Bucky said.   _There will be NO_ _so forth.  Well, maybe with Miss Romanov, she’s pretty enough.  But that’s it._

 _But I don’t like her like that,_ Jimmy said.   _I don’t think you do either, actually.  Mostly we’re scared of her.  And a little jealous.  It’s just that she’s the only girl around._

 _There’s Miss Grey,_ Bucky said, but even he sounded dubious.  

 _No,_ the Sergeant snapped.   _She sees too much._

 _And we REALLY don’t like her like that,_ Jimmy said.   _And she doesn’t like us like that, either.  But Tony does.  I think._

 _That’s another thing!_ Bucky snapped.   _Whatever this… perversion is that you two have got going, you don’t even have your target straight!  If you like Rogers, and you like Stark… how’s that going to work?_

Buck looked down at Jimmy, frowning.   _I mean, he’s right.  Stark seems nice enough, but I’m hardly going to give Steve up._

 _I like Steve, too,_ Jimmy said, sadly.   _But Steve doesn’t like us like that.  He said._

 _That doesn’t mean I’m gonna forget about him!_ Buck said.   _He’s still him.  There’s no-one in the world like him.  Never has been, never will be.  Not even in the twenty-first century.  He’s Steve._

 _Yeah,_ Jimmy said.   _But, look-- we’re not kissing him anyway, right?  So we might as well kiss somebody.  It’s not betraying Steve if he doesn’t want us.  And Tony is a LOT_ _classier than the guys by the Navy Yard, or Private Curtis._

 _That wasn’t kissing!_ Bucky snapped.   _There was no kissing involved!  Kissing is what queers do.  Getting off in the Yard is just-- look, a mouth is a mouth, right?  It’s not like you can even tell the difference if you’ve got your eyes closed._

Jimmy smirked at him. _Yeah, except that the person we were imagining with our eyes closed was Steve…_

 _No, it wasn’t!_ Bucky roared, striking out.   _God DAMN you, why are you doing this to me?  I never asked for this!  It’s nothing to do with me!  I’m not like that!  I’m not like you!  Get OUT of my HEAD!_

Jimmy ducked, yelped, crying out in sudden pain.   _Stop it!_ Buck snapped, getting between them.   _Leave him alone!_

 _You’re wrong!_ Jimmy sobbed, furious.   _It's not bad!_ __I_ t’s not sick!  It doesn’t feel sick at all!  It feels right. _   _You don’t want me to feel good!_

 _Not like THAT,_ Bucky snapped, struggling against Buck.   _Not if it’s disgusting._

 _It’s not!_ Jimmy cried.   _It’s not disgusting at all!  It doesn’t feel disgusting!  It feels nice.  You never listen to me when I tell you what’s really going on._

 _Because you’re sick!_ Bucky spat.  

 _So what?_ Jimmy sobbed.   _Who cares?  I don’t care!  It’s nobody else’s business!  And it doesn’t make any sense!  How would they know?  They’re not me!  They don’t know how I feel!  It feels right!_

 _I don’t care how it FEELS!_ Bucky snapped.   _It IS wrong!_

 _Whoa,_ Buck said, _whoa, guys, hold it-- Sarge?  You gonna help with this?_

 _No,_ the Sergeant said.   _I’m busy.  You three were dealing with this before there was more than one of you-- nothing’s going to come of it._

 _But--_ Buck said.  He pushed Bucky back, felt him trembling with rage and shame.   _Slow down, fellas.  Take it easy._

 _YOU take it easy!_ Bucky snapped, shoving him away.   _You’re just as bad as he is!  Just because you don’t do anything about it-- you’re so OBVIOUS.  I hate you!_

 _Hey!_ Buck said.   _There’s no need for that._

 _He’s a jerk,_ Jimmy murmured from behind Buck’s back.   _He doesn’t care about anything except what people think.  AND he’s a coward._

Bucky turned red.   _Call me that again.  I dare you.  Try me._

 _And then what?_ Buck snapped.   _What, are you going to beat him up?  How’s that going to change anything?_ He hesitated, and then said it, quietly.   _We like men.  We always have.  Whatever that makes us-- we’re it.  Okay?_

 _No!_ Bucky said.   _Not okay!  Not okay at all!  Never has been, never will be!_

 _Well,_ Buck said, _that’s too bad.  Because that doesn’t change it._

 _Not if we don’t try,_ Bucky said.   _You never would try.  I’d be slaving away trying, with all those girls, and you’d just hang back and sigh about Stee-eeve.  And they could tell, you know!  You were not making it easy!_

 _Well, no,_ Buck said.   _It felt dishonest._

 _And boring,_ Jimmy put in.   _And uncomfortable._

 _So what?_ Bucky snapped.   _It’s what people do!  It’s what men do!  Who cares if you like it-- it’s what you DO._

 _But I don’t want to,_ Jimmy said.   _So I’m not gonna._

 _And…_ Buck said, slowly.   _Well, we really do have to come to an agreement about this._

 _How?_ Bucky said.   _Why?  You’re wrong._

 _Why?_ the Sergeant put in.   _Because we’ve only got one dick, guys.  And like hell I’m going to sit through you three bumbling around like the Keystone Cops with that hanging out._

 _Thought you were busy,_ Buck said.

 _I’m done,_ the Sergeant said.   _Stark finished the arm, and Rogers took us back to our room and put us to bed.  The body’s falling asleep._

Buck and Jimmy protested.   _But I wanted to see him!_

 _They’re not going anywhere,_ the Sergeant said.   _They’ll be there in the morning.  Relax.  We need the sleep.  It’s been a long day._

 _I’m not like that,_ Bucky said.   _I’ll never be like that._

 _How nice for you,_ the Sergeant said.   _Is there any chance at all I can get the bunch of you idiots to keep it in your pants until, say, we’re not on trial and fighting for our life?_

They thought about it.   _No,_ Jimmy said.   _I don’t think so._

The Sergeant groaned.   _Yeah, I coulda guessed._

 _I’m not,_ Bucky said.   _Damn you.  I’m not._

 _Uh-huh,_ the Sergeant said.   _Go to sleep._

******************************************************************************************

_Running, top-speed, across the snow and ice.  Metal in his boot treads catches on the ice, keeps him stable, but the people in front of him have nothing but the slippery soles of their professional shoes, and the woman’s wearing heels.  One of the men slips and falls, reaches for her, she reaches back for him and is dragged down.  Good: that makes things easy.  He’s on them in a second, gun muzzle pointed right between the man’s eyes, and fires.  Loud sharp crack of the gunshot, blood and brains and fragments of bone splatter out, spray over the woman’s face.  Muzzle pointed between her eyes, and there’s a moment when she’s looking up, looking him straight in the eyes, scared and furious and, somewhere in there, there’s a flicker of humor, as if she’s just realized something terribly, terribly funny.  It dies with her, the light in her eyes going as one of the eyes goes, because she moved, not because his hand shook.  The shots were point-blank, close enough that he doesn’t need to check they’re dead before he’s after the third one.  Floundering footsteps in the snow, harsh panting and sobbing, not coming from him, he runs silently, as silently as he’s done everything else.  Running, snow lashing his face above the mask, running and running, heart beating fast and gun steady in his hand, not bothering to shoot again until he gets close enough to be sure, this guy can’t go far.  Running and running, and the snow is white around him, it’s harder and harder to see the target, but he can hear sobbing, hear panting, hear screaming.  Running and running, cold and lost, and surely he’s been running too long, has he passed the guy in the snow somehow?  Running and running, breath starting to come harder, nothing but freezing white all around him, no direction, no sense of where to go.  Running and running, and he can’t see, and he doesn’t know where he is or what’s happening, just that he has to keep running, running and running and_

“... wake up, sir.  It is 3:45am, October 24th, 2014,  You’re in your bedroom in the Avengers Tower in New York.  You’re dreaming.  You are not in danger.  No-one else is in the room with you.  Please wake up, sir.  It is 3:46am,  October 24th, 2014.  You’re in your bedroom in the Avengers Tower in New York.  You’re dreaming.  You are not in danger.  No-one else is in the room with you.   Please wake up, sir…”

The eyes snapped open, and before the Asset could come to the front, Jimmy let out a whimpering sob.  And Bucky wasn’t awake yet, couldn’t stop the tears, even though there was _someone_ here seeing them, the voice kept going.

 _It’s a recording,_ the Sergeant said.   _Sort of._ “Thanks,” he said, stepping forward just long enough to say it.  “I’m up, now.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” the Brit said.  “Is there anything you need?”

Jimmy was still crying.  The body didn’t sob, but tears flowed from the eyes, and the arms hunched convulsively in across the chest.  “It was a dream?” he asked.

“It seemed to be,” the Brit said.  “Certainly, you were peacefully asleep until approximately five minutes ago.”  

 _Why is he watching me sleep?_ Bucky asked shakily.

“He was so scared,” Jimmy said.  “And so… ripped up, and bloody, and… horrible, and I could see inside her face, and… and he was so scared, I scared him, so much, I hurt them, I, I…”

 _Shhhh,_ Buck said, waking, and unclenched the arms enough to wrap them around the shoulders, the best he could do for a hug.  

“It was a dream,” the Brit said softly.  “None of that is happening now.”  

 _But it did happen!_  Jimmy said, and that was worse.  “It did happen, though.  Didn’t it?  I did those things.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” the Brit said.  “I don’t know what you were dreaming.”  

“I--” Jimmy started.

 _Wait,_ the Sergeant said.   _Wait, let me think.  Dammit, I wish the Soldier were here._

 _I don’t!_ Jimmy wailed.   _He did it!  He was the one who made us do that!  He hurt them like that!  He scared them!  I’m glad he’s gone!_ “I dreamed I killed people!” he shouted, to the Brit, to anyone.  “Three people.  Two men and a woman.  In the snow.  And I scared them.”  

There was a pause.  “I’m afraid I don’t know,” the Brit said.  “I know that you killed many people.  I don’t know whether the ones in the dream were among them.”

Jimmy started crying in earnest, then.   _He’s terrible.  He’s evil.  He scared them so much.  I was so mean!  I didn’t care at all, I just killed them, it was so awful!  I was so awful!_

 _Whoa,_ Buck soothed.   _Whoa, whoa, Jimmy-- it wasn’t you.  You wouldn’t do that._

 _I did do that!_ Jimmy shouted.   _I did it with my hands!  Whose hands were those, if they weren’t mine?  I remember it!  I felt it!  That was me!_

“Would you like me to call Captain Rogers?” the Brit asked.  

Everyone started talking at once.  Since no-one was in agreement even with themselves, let alone anybody else, it didn’t come to much.   _Pipe down!_ the Sergeant snapped.   _We can’t see Steve AND not see Steve AND see Stark AND not hurt Steve’s feelings by asking for Stark instead of him AND just shut up and go back to sleep.  Although if we could do that last one, that would keep things nice and simple._

 _It’s dark,_ Jimmy said.   _I feel bad._

The Sergeant reached out the arm to turn the lights on.  

 _Thanks,_ Jimmy said.   _But._

“Sergeant Barnes?” the Brit asked.  

 _Is he talking to you?_ Jimmy asked.

 _Don’t think so,_ the Sergeant said.   _Just us._  “Hang on a minute,” he said, aloud.

“Of course,” the Brit said.  “If you’d prefer, I’d be happy to talk to you.  Since we’re both awake already.”

 _I thought he was a... robot or something?_ Buck asked.  “Do you sleep?”

“Not as such,” the Brit said.  “Certainly, there are times when more of my attention is elsewhere.  Usually when Mr. Stark is engaging in some of his more... strenuous experiments.  But with him and the rest of the Avengers safely in repose, I have more liberty for personal projects.  Such as conversation.”

Buck tried to think about how he wanted to phrase this.  “Do you... like talking to people?” he asked, as it seemed like a good way to find out whether the ( _artificial intelligence,_ the Sergeant supplied.   _Like a very, very good computer—no, never mind.  Like a robot.  Let’s go with that_ ) had likes and dislikes.

“I suppose it depends on the person,” the Brit ( _JARVIS_ , the Sergeant filled in, _come on, you were right there when they’ve said the name fifteen or so times, pay attention!_ ) said.

“Fair enough,” Buck said.

“I’m glad you think so, Sergeant,” Jarvis said.

Buck chuckled.

“Pardon me,” Jarvis said, “but may I ask how you’re feeling?”

“Sure,” Buck said.  “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

Jarvis made a throat-clearing noise, which must mean he had a throat?  ( _No,_ the Sergeant said, _but never mind._ )  “I don’t mean to be rude,” he said, “but I can’t help but notice that your heartrate and breathing have not slowed since your awakening.”

 _Jeez,_ Bucky put in, _why do they have so much trouble understanding this?  I already told them a hundred times._ “That’s just the body,” he said.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“Ah,” Jarvis said.  “Again, I don’t wish to intrude, and please do tell me if I’ve overstepped my bounds.  But Mr. Stark has made similar statements about his body not mattering on multiple past occasions.  And I have been instructed, by both him and Ms. Potts, to override his decisions on these matters.  In his words,” (and it came out in Stark’s voice, panting and ragged, not the careful British one,) “Okay, J, new rule: do not screw the physical limitations.  Respect the physical limitations.  Take the physical limitations out to dinner and ask their opinions like you mean it.”  The usual voice resumed.  “And so there are protocols I’m instructed to follow if Mr. Stark says things like what you have just said.  Would you like me to follow them now?”

“What protocols?” the Sergeant asked through Buck, because what kind of ridiculously open-ended question was that?

“A review of how long it has been since various functions were met,” JARVIS said.  “Food, water, sleep, exercise, companionship.  And then assistance in meeting those which require fulfilling.”  

 _Isn’t that your job?_ Buck asked the Sergeant.

 _Yeah, well, it’s 2014,_ the Sergeant said.   _They’ve got machines for EVERYTHING now.  But we’ve got all those things.  The ones we really need, anyway._

“What kind of assistance?” Buck asked, rather than argue the point.

“It varies,” Jarvis said.  “Most often, Mr. Stark has access to all of them, but requires reminding to use it.  Sometimes multiple times.”

They thought about it.  “What does companionship have to do with it?” Buck asked, because the Sergeant wasn’t going to.  “That’s not physical.”

“It is, actually,” Jarvis said.  “Being around trusted companions tends to lower humans’ stress levels, boosting their immune systems.  Though I suspect that for Mr. Stark, it’s more a matter of enjoyment than anything else.”

 _Hey,_ Jimmy said.   _Hey.  Can I.  Um._

 _What the hell,_ the Sergeant said.   _Why not.  It’s got you calmed down, anyway, that’s something.  The AI’s right that the body freaking out probably isn’t helpful._

 _I don’t think I’m that calm,_ Jimmy said.  But he continued aloud.  “So, does Tony-- Mr. Stark, I guess-- have any companions he, um, enjoys more?”

Bucky groaned.   _You don’t even make sense!_ Jimmy stuck out his tongue at him.       

Jarvis seemed to agree.  “Could you be more specific?” he asked.  

“Do I have to?” Jimmy asked, suddenly shy.

 _You’re the worst,_ Bucky told him.   _God, if this were a person instead of just a machine, there is no WAY I’d let you do this.  I’m almost embarrassed to let you do this without anyone listening._

“I could guess what you mean,” Jarvis said.  “Mr. Stark is close friends with all of the Avengers, as well as a wide range of acquaintance outside the team.”  A brief, polite pause.  “Were you asking about romantic partners?”

“Um,” Jimmy squeaked, “yes?”

“Are you sure,” Jarvis asked gently, “that you wouldn’t rather just ask Mr. Stark yourself?”

 _Are you?_ Buck asked Jimmy dubiously.  

“Yes,” Bucky said firmly.   _Are you kidding me?_

“Very well,” Jarvis said.  “It is a matter of public record that Mr. Stark’s primary partner is the CEO of Stark Industries, Pepper Potts.”  

Jimmy wasn’t sure what to feel about that.   _He does have someone.  Damn it.  But… the CEO of his company?  So he DOES like men, then!_

 _She’s a woman,_ the Sergeant said.   _Am I the only one who pays attention?  JARVIS just mentioned MS. Potts._

 _...oh,_ Jimmy said, settling on disappointed.  More disappointed than they would have expected-- really wrecked, more than made sense to him.  He didn’t know why it should feel like a loss-- he’d only met Tony a few days ago!  But something ached, and the subroutines whimpered and howled.  

 _Oh, hey…_ Buck said, putting an arm around him.   _It’s not that bad._

 _I know!_ Jimmy complained, despite the tears.   _I know it’s not that bad!  I don’t know why I’m crying about it!  I just… I just liked him!  How come I never get to have anyone I really, really like?  And why does everyone go away?_

 _We’re here,_ Buck said.   _We’re not going anywhere._   

 _Yeah,_ Jimmy whimpered, _but…_

 _We’re not nothing,_ the Sergeant growled.   _We kept each other company for a long time, when there was no-one else there._

 _I know!_ Jimmy said, surprised to realize that he did.   _But I wanted HIM.  I wanted somebody else._

 _That does make sense,_ Buck said.

The Sergeant sighed a long sigh.  Then he said, _“Primary.”_

_What?_

_“Primary,”_ the Sergeant repeated.   _That’s what JARVIS called her.  His primary partner._   

 _What does that mean?_  Buck asked.

 _Ask him,_ the Sergeant said.

Not sure why the Sergeant couldn’t just pass him the information, Buck asked, “Jarvis?  What do you mean by ‘primary’?”

There was a pause.  “My apologies, Sergeant Barnes,” Jarvis said.  “I believe I have reached the limit of what I can tell you without Mr. Stark’s knowledge and consent.”  

“Oh, come _on!”_ snapped Buck, annoyed-- wasn’t the kid miserable enough without having to play guessing games?  

“I understand your frustration,” Jarvis said.  “And my apologies, Sergeant Barnes.  I seem to be falling into the same trap as everyone else in the Tower: we hide information from you for fear of doing harm, but ignorance can hardly be more reassuring.”

“No kidding,” Jimmy grumbled.  

“Although,” Jarvis said, thoughtfully, “perhaps there is a way I can be helpful.  Sergeant-- am I right that you were dissociated in the moments before the Serpent Squad’s attack on the Tower?”  At the face’s puzzled expression, “That is-- did you hear what Captain Rogers was saying in those moments?”

Buck shook the head.  “No, I didn’t.”

“Would you like to?”

 _No,_ Bucky said, suddenly urgent, _no, come on, we don’t need to listen to that.  We don’t need to know anything about it.  Come on, guys, lay off._

“Yes,” Buck said, firmly.  “Please.”

Across the room, another screen of StarkGlass flickered to life.  They saw an image, from above and to the side, of Steve, standing, talking, earnest and intent.  He was talking to a man they didn’t recognize-- wild dark hair, standing tense and still, looking out the window, with his back to Steve.  Then he flinched away from the window, standing instead with his back to the wall, and they saw his face, but it took a long moment for the penny to drop.   _Is that ME?_ Bucky demanded.   _I look like shit!  I’ve looked better coming off of a five-day march!_

 _Shhhhh!_ Buck said, because he’d missed this conversation the first time around, like hell he was missing it this time.

“You know,” said film-Steve to the half-awake wreck which was apparently the body, “for all that I’ve thought about what I’d say if I found you again, I never did get the wording quite right.  Anyway.”   He took a deep breath, looked away, then looked back at them.  “I’m sorry, Buck.  I’ve been wanting to say that for more than a year now, and I never thought I’d get the chance.  I was wrong, when-- that night, in London, when I wouldn’t kiss you back.  I thought-- I don’t know, I thought I had to be Captain America.  Morally upright and Good with a capital G.  And I didn’t know what that meant, exactly, so I was trying to start with what we’d been taught as kids and go from there.

“But that doesn’t go far enough.  Maybe it never did.  It didn’t fit with what we saw over there, or what was going on that we didn’t see.  And it didn’t fit with how I felt about you, or-- how you felt about me?”  A pause.  “Buck?”

“Yeah,” the film-body said, surprising all of them.   _I mean,_ Buck said, _I was TRYING to follow him, but I sure didn’t hear this!_

Film-Steve waited for him to say more, then squared his shoulders and kept talking.  “I’ve thought a lot, since I woke up here.  No, since before then.  When you-- when you fell, everything stopped making sense.  I watched you… drop, and disappear, in my mind, over and over again.  And I couldn’t understand it.  I couldn’t see how God would let that happen.  Unless it was some kind of punishment for how I felt about you, but… what kind of God would do something like that?  How is that not the worst kind of bullying?  

“I love you, Buck.  I’ve always loved you.  And I tried to kid myself that it felt wrong, but it didn’t.  Loving you felt just as right as fighting to save the world did.  And if the God I believed in thought differently, then, well, maybe I wasn’t seeing God very well?  Maybe the God I was seeing was just some tiny, shrunken little version of what God really was, if I let Him be?  

“So I’ve thought about it a lot.  Prayed about it a lot.  And I was wrong.  I’m so, so sorry I pushed you away that night.  I don’t think it’s wrong that I love you.  Or that you...

“Bucky?  You with me?”                      


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where the fic gets its dubcon tag. See the end-note for more details.

_What?_ Buck said.

On the screen, the window blew in again, and the Sergeant winced at the body's stunned inaction.  The image went still, with Steve leaping into the fight, frozen, his shield out automatically to protect them... but also with an empty space in his guard, right where Buck remembered fitting, even if he didn't remember exactly how or when. But that feeling, he remembered that; his attention split, most of it looking around at their enemies in ways he couldn’t remember clearly, but part of it sure and certain-- a sense of where Steve was, how he was moving, as strong and solid as a part of his own body.  He could remember feeling that connection to Steve, that knowledge of him.  

Had he ever really believed that Steve didn’t feel the same way?

 _He loves me!_ Jimmy crowed.   _He does, he does, he does!  He loves me!_ He jumped up and down, danced around them laughing, and even the body was smiling.   _‘I love you, Buck.  I’ve always loved you.’  Hah!  Wow!  Wowee golly gosh holy SHIT he loves me!_ He bounced back to the others, grinning and dancing.   _Let’s watch it again!_

 _No,_ Bucky snapped.  

 _Spoilsport,_ Jimmy chuckled, and poked Bucky in the ribs.   _He LOVES us!  He does, he does, he does!_

 _What?_ Buck said.  Soft tears were forming in the eyes, warm, not yet falling.   _I don’t understand._

Jimmy slowed down a bit.   _What’s not to understand?  We love Steve.  Steve loves us.  He said!_

 _I heard him,_ Buck said.   _But he… but he said it was wrong._

 _And he was right,_ Bucky said.   _This doesn’t change that._

 _Oh, of course it does!_ Jimmy said.   _Buck, you know you only ever bought into that whole mess to make me feel better about him turning us down._

 _I do?_ Buck asked.   _I don’t think I do know that, actually._

 _Well, it’s mostly true,_ the Sergeant put in.   _I mean, it’s not like we were all that Christian anyway._

 _Would you hush?_ Bucky snapped.   _HALF-Jewish.  Doesn’t really even count, if you don’t tell anybody about it._

 _Would to Hitler,_ Buck said.

 _That’s got nothing to do with this!_ Bucky growled.  

 _Yeah!_ Jimmy said.   _Steve!  Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve!_ He played back the memory, as clearly as he could-- he didn’t get all the words, didn’t get all the God-talk, but he saw how Steve was looking at him.  Heard the timbre of his voice, the emotion in it.   _I want to go talk to him!  Right now!  Now now now now NOW!_

 _Not ‘til you calm down, boy-o,_ the Sergeant said.   _Last thing any of us need is you jumping all over him like a puppy._    

_I need that!_ Jimmy protested, only half in play.   _I absolutely need that!  Jumping all over him,  pronto!_

 _NO!_ Bucky snapped.   _For God’s sake, even if Steve IS… like that, that still doesn’t mean it’s safe!  There are tons of people here, you don’t think they’re going to suspect if you’re dancing around like an idiot?_

 _That might not matter all that much,_ the Sergeant said thoughtfully.   _Times have changed. Rogers knew that JARVIS was watching and recording, but he didn’t try to hide what he was saying at all.  He probably doesn’t think there’s a danger._

 _Or he might just not be thinking about it,_ Buck noted, almost automatically.   _Steve never thinks about his own neck when he thinks he’s right._

Jimmy studied him, confused.   _I thought you’d be happy._

 _I… am?_ Buck said.   _I mean, of course I am.  I love him.  I’ve loved him for years.  This is great._

Bucky turned, looked Buck up and down.  His lip curled in nasty amusement.   _Oh… oh, I get it._ He walked up to Buck, flicked his chest.   _You’re a virgin._

 _Shut up,_ Buck said.

 _But I’m right,_ Bucky said, _aren’t I?  You know all about how to pine for someone you can’t have.  But you wouldn’t have the slightest damn idea what to DO with someone if you had… him.  That’s all ME._

 _I would,_ Jimmy complained.   _I know EXACTLY what I want to do with him!_

Bucky shook his head.   _Sure, you know what YOU want.  But you don’t know how to get him to like it.  Or get him to want to come back for more.  Right?_   

 _I…_ Buck said.   _I’m not gonna treat him like one of your pick-up girls!  He’s better than that._

 _Yeah,_ Bucky said.   _Too good for you._

 _No!_ Jimmy said.   _No, he’s not!  I want him!  And… and he SAID he loved us!_

 _‘Us’?_ Bucky said.   _He never said YOUR name, kid.  Whatever he thinks he’s in love with, you really think it’s some crazy killer hearing voices?_

 _Wait,_ Buck said, _I thought you thought we weren’t crazy?_

 _He thinks whatever makes us look worst,_ the Sergeant said.   _He doesn’t have to be consistent.  He just has to be an asshole._

Bucky glared at the Sergeant.   _I’m just being realistic.  If I didn’t know what’s wrong with me, how could I know what to keep people from finding out about?_

 _And that’s what you want to spend our time on?_ the Sergeant scolded.   _You always do this.  We’ll be in the middle of fighting for our lives, and you worry about what angle your damn hat is cocked at!_

Bucky shrugged.   _It’s not that bad.  You always make such a big deal of things._

 _Uh-huh,_ the Sergeant snapped.   _Like whether we die.  Little things like that._

 _Um,_ Jimmy said, plaintively.   _Steve?_

 _Yeah,_ Buck said.   _Yeah, Jimmy, you’re right.  We need to answer him.  My God, he’s been walking around having told us all that, and not getting an answer, for…_

 _(16 hours 13 minutes 5 seconds,_ said someone)

... _all night!_ Buck continued.   _That’s awful!  He put himself out there, and I didn’t even answer?_

 _What would you say?_ Bucky countered.

 _I’d say yes!_ Jimmy said.   _I’d say I love him, too!  It’s not that hard!_ He twined his arms around Buck’s waist, whimpering.   _Why are we waiting?  I’ve been waiting so long!  Why are we just sitting here?_

 _Well,_ the Sergeant said, _because it’s three o’clock in the morning, for one thing.  He’s probably asleep._

 _Is he?_ Jimmy asked.  “Jarvis, is Steve awake right now?”

“Not at this moment, Sergeant,” Jarvis said.  “Would you like me to wake him?”

 _No,_ Bucky said.  

 _Come on, Sergeant!_ Jimmy said.   _Buck!  Come ON!_

 _He needs his sleep..._ Buck said. 

_He’s a damn super-soldier!_ Jimmy said.   _Please?_

 _I…_ Buck said.   _I don’t know.  What if… I don’t want to hurt him.  I might hurt him.  I’m dangerous.  Now._

 _The SOLDIER was dangerous!_ Jimmy snapped.   _Not you!  Not me!  Come on, PLEASE!_ He’d lost all trace of play now, just begging.   _It’s everything we’ve wanted!  Just handed to us!  Please, please don’t say no!_

 _But…_ Buck said, _but I have to protect him._

 _Oh my GOD,_ Jimmy said.  “Yes!  Jarvis, wake him up right now!”

 _DAMMIT,_ Bucky said, lunging for the front.  Jimmy stayed put, shoving at Bucky’s shoulder and pushing him away.

“Certainly, Sergeant,” Jarvis said.  “One moment.”  

 _For God’s sake,_ the Sergeant complained.   _Would you guys pull it together?_

 _I’m trying,_ Bucky growled.   _Not my fault the kid’s not cooperating!_

 _Yeah!_ Jimmy said.   _Not my fault the stupid, cowardly rat-fink’s not cooperating!_ Bucky shoved him harder.

Buck blinked.   _You sound mad._

 _I am mad!_ Jimmy said.   _I’m mad at you!   Both of you!  I want him!  He wants me!  Stop THINKING so much!_

“Buck?” Steve’s voice sounded from the speakers.  He didn’t sound like he’d been asleep-- he sounded wide awake, alert, ready.

“Steve!” Jimmy said, quickly, keeping a firm grasp on his position.  “Jarvis played us what you said!  Before the window exploded.  We couldn’t hear you then, so we didn’t answer.  But we heard you now!  And we-- I love you, too!  I love you.  I always have.”

“Oh,” Steve said, a soft release, almost a prayer.  “Oh, Buck-- that’s good to hear.”  

Buck perked up, because Steve sounded _so_ happy.  

 _FUCK,_ Bucky snapped, and tore at Jimmy.  Buck jumped in before he could do much damage.  

“Buck?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Buck answered, because he couldn’t not answer Steve.  He never could.  “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Good,” Steve said.  “That’s… that’s really good.”  His voice was choked.  “I missed you.”

“Me, too,” Jimmy said, and it was true.  For all that he didn’t remember being there, for all that the last… what, seventy years?... were a blur, he felt like he could remember that.  That longing, so deep and scared and sad, _Steve, where is he, he’s gone, Steve, help me, come back, come find me, please…_ “Even when I didn’t remember that I did, I did.  

“Yeah,” Steve said, although the Sergeant didn’t see how he could have made sense of that.    

There was some sound… some murmur, not familiar, too quiet for them to make it out.  The subroutines twitched, but Jimmy forgot it promptly when Steve said, “Buck-- can I come see you?”

“Yes!” Jimmy said, happily, because Buck was holding Bucky in place, and the Sergeant seemed distracted.  “Here?  You could come here!”  

“Yeah, I could,” Steve said.  “I will.  I’ll see you in a minute.”  

 _You can’t,_ Bucky said, desperate.   _You fucking can’t._

 _You can’t stop me,_ Jimmy said.   _Not any more.  Not now that I know he loves me.  Not now that I know who I am._

 _Who do you think you are?_ Bucky demanded.   _You’re ridiculous!  You’re a sick, stupid, crybaby brat!  You’ve got no idea what you’re doing!  You’re like an animal or something!_

 _But I’m happy,_ Jimmy said.  

 _Who cares?_ Bucky snapped.   _What’s that got to do with the price of butter?_

Out in the front entryway, the elevator door dinged.  “Buck?” Steve called, and Jimmy had them out of bed and heading for the bedroom door before the others had a chance to react.   _That’s a really fast elevator,_ the Sergeant noted, and Bucky growled at him, _who cares?  You’re supposed to keep us in one piece, right?  DO something!_

“Steve!” Jimmy called.  Steve was waiting for him, face in shadow from the elevator light behind him, lit by all the tiny glows that came from the apartment’s many machines, and the dim city-light coming in through the windows.  He was barefoot, wearing loose pyjama pants and a white t-shirt, and he was hesitating in the doorway.  The elevator slid shut behind him.  

Jimmy rushed forward, fast, urgent.   _No way I’m missing this, no way, no way, no._ Steve held out his arms, and Jimmy fell into them, as he’d wanted to, so many times, thought about so many nights-- when Steve was thousands of miles away, when Steve was sleeping just a few feet from him.  It was better than he’d imagined.  Better, to really feel him, without needing to keep a casual “just friends” distance.  Better, to hear him breathing, feel it at the same time, smell him without wondering if breathing him in would be too weird, too close, too revealing.  Steve lifted his head, enough to look down into the eyes, and Jimmy didn’t know which of them started the kiss, but it didn’t matter, not compared to the perfect heat of him, the strength of his mouth, the hunger for him.  Just him, just learning to move with him, learning how his lips moved and his tongue, asking and offering, and Jimmy trying to answer _yes, yes, yes, yes, yes._

 _No,_ Bucky complained, but quietly, and in the background.  And then less quietly, _wow, he doesn’t kiss like a girl at all, does he?  And you have NO idea what to do with that.  You gonna melt under him like a girl would?  Think that’s what he’d like?  Because no-one’s in charge of this kiss, and so you’re being as clumsy as a carp, you do know that, right?_

 _Shut up,_ Jimmy whimpered, the mouth going slack and uncertain.   _Why do you have to ruin everything?  Shut UP!_

 _I’m just saying,_ Bucky mentioned, as Steve pulled back, _he probably expected better._

“Buck?” Steve asked quietly.  He was breathing hard, Jimmy could feel it against the chest.  “Is this okay?”

“Yeah!” Jimmy said quickly.  “Of course.  Are you kidding?  I’ve only been thinking about kissing you for…”

 _(75 years, 15 days, 12 hours, 4 minutes, and 6 seconds,_ someone said.)

 _Since a long time before you tried it,_ Bucky said.   _Don’t tell him that, it’s creepy as hell._

 _Shut up,_ Jimmy said, and kissed Steve again.  It was still good.  Pretty good.  He thought.  Maybe kind of clumsy, but Steve didn’t seem to mind.  The subroutines fritzed, static, at the strong arms wrapped around them, holding them trapped in place, and Jimmy did his damndest to ignore it, but it was feeling-- it wasn’t as good.  As it had been.  As he’d hoped.  The mouth tasted sleep-foul, and the body’s sensations were as far away as they ever were-- it’s just the body, it doesn’t matter-- except that the cock was getting hard and sensitive, and the subroutines were _blitzing_ about that in ways Jimmy didn’t recognize.   _I…_ Jimmy stammered, _I don’t know, I… wait, I… wait…_ He stumbled back from the front, eyes wide, and curled up behind the Sergeant.

 _Yeah,_ Bucky growled, _yeah, you better run, you little perv,_ and stalked off after him.          

Which left Buck at the front, with the arms full of Steve.  Who was kissing the mouth, running his lips along the cheek, kissing the neck.  “Bucky,” Steve murmured, “God, you feel so good.”  He kissed along the side of the neck, and the body shivered and clutched tighter to him.  “Is that good?  Buck?”

“Yeah,” Buck murmured, wanting to sound as passionate as Steve did.  “I love you.”  

“I love you,” Steve answered, instantly, and there was so much joy in his voice, so much relief and homecoming that Buck couldn’t help but feel warmed by it.  “I’ve always loved you.  Even when I was being an idiot, that… I never didn’t love you.  God, I’m so sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Buck said, quickly, easily.  “It’s okay.  You’re here now.”

Steve smiled against the skin.  “Yeah,” he said.  Buck ran the right hand through Steve’s hair, noticed how he leaned into it, his hands tightening around the back.   _He likes this,_ Buck thought, wonderingly, _he likes me, he’s happy.  This is good._ He mimicked Steve’s earlier motions, and Steve gasped at the feeling of the lips on his neck, moved against the body, his cock hard in his pyjama pants, hard against the thigh.  

 _Wait?_ Jimmy said, in a voice almost too quiet to hear.   _It’s good, but… wait?_

 _For what?_ Buck asked, absently, his attention on Steve’s movements.  Steve seemed… restrained, he thought, cautious, keeping his hands still on the back, not moving his mouth to anywhere below the neck.  Respectful, and Buck smiled, fond, because that was Steve all over, wasn’t it?  Except that he couldn’t seem to help moving his hips, ever-so-slightly, little cut-short motions toward the thighs, toward the cock, and that had to be frustrating, right?  He could help with that.  Buck moved the right hand down, reaching for Steve’s waistband, and Steve exhaled his name, like an oath or a prayer.   _Okay,_ Buck thought, sliding the hand against Steve’s stomach and down, feeling for what would work, what would feel good to him, _okay, let’s see…_

 _Um,_ Jimmy said quietly, _oh, wow, that’s neat, but, um, Sergeant?  Help?_

 _Little busy,_ the Sergeant said, almost inaudible over the subroutines’ static.  

 _But...!_ Jimmy said.     

Buck watched the hand move, watched Steve move and groan in response.   _I’m doing that,_ Buck thought, _I’m making him feel that.  Wow._ He moved the mouth against Steve’s, felt Steve panting into it, moved the hand faster.

“Bucky,” Steve panted, “oh God, thank you, God, yes…”  

 _Is he gonna come for me?_ Buck wondered, watching Steve’s movements get less and less controlled.   _Huh.  Wow._ And then wasn’t thinking about much except about how to move the hand right, how to get Steve’s breathing deeper, get his hips moving most urgently, keep him hard and slick in the hand.  Steve moaned his name, stiffened against the hand, slumped against the shoulder, breathing hard.  

 _FINALLY,_ the Winter Soldier said, and went for his throat.      

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to avoid the dubious consent bit, feel free to read most of the chapter, but stop at “ _Shut up,_ Jimmy said, and kissed Steve again.” 
> 
> Quick summary after that point: 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Because of Bucky’s criticism, as well as the subroutines’ indistinct traumatic memories of sexual situations, Jimmy loses confidence and steps away from the front. That leaves Buck in charge, and he’s very dissociated from their collective feelings and desires-- just wants to take care of Steve. So despite Steve checking in with them, they initiate and have sex that they don’t feel ready for, and are very detached from. 
> 
> And when they’re done, the Winter Soldier shows up and goes for Steve’s throat.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags.

“NO!” Jimmy shouted, and Steve pulled away, slow and dazed, but enough to avoid the full force of the concrete-shattering metal knife-hand strike that would have snapped his neck.  He flew backwards, crashed into the wall, knocked over a lamp.  The Winter Soldier grabbed Jimmy, pulled him away from the front like he weighed no more than a starved puppy, threw him back.  

_ What the hell?  _ Jimmy was shouting, shocked and horrified, trying desperately to get back to the front.  The body leapt across the room after Steve, who was still crumpled against the wall.  He grabbed the pole of the broken floor lamp and held it up, using it to block the left arm coming at him, but his movements were slower than usual, his breathing ragged.   _ Stop!  _ Jimmy shouted, and Buck and Bucky joined him, clinging to the Soldier’s arms,  _ stop, stop, stop, stop, STOP! _

_ This isn’t working!  _ Buck panted, slamming Captain America’s shield against the Soldier’s arm to no effect.   _ Why isn’t it working?  It worked before! _

_ Before?  _ the Soldier asked, pounding against Rogers’ frantic blocks.   _ You mean, when the Avengers had us obviously outnumbered and outgunned and so I let you pull me back?  That before?   _

“Buck,” Steve panted.  “Buck, whoa, stop, it’s me.  What--”  He rolled to the side and shoved the couch between him and the quick-punching body, hissing in pain.  “Stop, talk to me, what is this?”

The Soldier said nothing, just picked the couch up and threw it to the side, blocking the door.  He lunged at Rogers again, blocked him when he tried to roll, kicked him hard.  Rogers coughed and spat blood, and the Soldier noted the damage--  _ probably fractured his sternum.  Good; that means just a few good blows to get broken bones into his heart and lungs.   _

_ NO!  _ howled most of them.  Even the Sergeant was swearing,  _ we’ve got dozens of enemies out there, and you’re attacking the one person who really wants to protect us?   _

_ Oh, is that what they call it now?  _ the Soldier said, kicking Rogers hard enough to flip him over onto his back.  Rogers grabbed the foot and hung onto it, swinging his weight to knock them off balance, and the body staggered.  Buck struggled to use that moment of distraction, enough to at least take over the mouth, “Jarvis,  _ help!   _ Stop me!”  

“Confirmed,” said the voice from the ceiling, but the Soldier was kicking at Rogers’ grip on the foot,  _ hard,  _ heard the  _ crack!  _ of Rogers’ jaw snap under the heel.  The foot was slippery with blood-- Rogers', their own, they’d stepped in the broken glass of the lamp at some point, but the Asset was taking the damage, it wasn’t nearly enough to interfere with their functioning.  Rogers grabbed their ankle and  _ twisted,  _ hard, snapped it, and that would interfere pretty badly, actually.  The roaring of the subroutines was ocean-loud, a storm of panic and pain, but the Soldier was used to tuning that out.  Rogers, clearly knowing a desperate situation when he saw it, slammed a fist into the balls, and that was actually too much damage for the Asset to absorb completely, the body froze for a moment, hunched over.  Rogers staggered to his feet and away, grabbed a decorative table and smashed it over the head.  He tried to say something, probably “Bucky,” but it came out mumbled and liquid.  

_ STOP!  _ Jimmy screamed.   _ Why are you doing this? _

_ He doesn’t have his shield,  _ the Soldier said, grabbing a chunk of broken table and striking at Rogers’ side with it.   _ He’s barely dressed, he’s alone, he’s off-guard, he started the fight post-coital.  I’m never gonna get a better chance than this.   _

_ Not that!  _ Buck snapped, as Steve tried to block the table-leg and took the blow hard on his elbow.   _ Why attack him at all?  What’s the point?   _

_ To kill him,  _ the Winter Soldier said, smashing at Rogers again and again.  Rogers rolled away, got another couch between them, panting.  The Soldier vaulted over the couch and landed with a knee on Rogers’ back, using the good leg to balance.   _ So he’ll die. _

There was a  _ wham  _ of metal, a roar of engines, and they were flying across the room, crashing into the wall.  The Soldier twisted, managed to lever the body loose from the metal arms that held it, but a whine and blast of light hit the chest hard, pinned the body to the wall and knocked the breath out of it.  Iron Man came to a halt a few feet from the body, between it and Rogers ( _ dammit),  _ glowing hand raised and ready.  “ _ Cap! _ ”  Iron Man shouted.  Rogers tried to say something, choked on blood, so flashed a shaky thumbs-up instead.  Even through the robot-mask of the armor, Buck thought he could read worried exasperation.  Iron Man kept his attention on the body, palm steadily and menacingly glowing, as he ordered, “Avengers, assemble!  37th floor, move your asses, our new friend just lost his guest privileges.”  

_ Damn it,  _ the Sergeant spat.   _ It’s good to see you again, but couldn’t we have TALKED about this?   _

_ No,  _ the Soldier said, faked forwards and dove right, getting behind a couch again and shoving it, hard, into Iron Man’s side.  Iron Man’s blast went wide across the ceiling, and the dust of plaster and falling chunks of wall and ceiling were an opportunity.  Probably couldn’t jump that high from a standing start with only one working leg, but the cloud of dust decreased visibility, made it easier to get to Rogers’ position.  Easy to find him from the heavy gasping of his breath, and it’d just take a few more good blows to collapse his lungs entirely, but the metal fist rebounded hard off the goddamn shield.  Not held as strongly as it had been during their earlier fights, he could push it back, but Rogers was still holding it up between them.  The Soldier stopped hitting and  _ yanked,  _ pulling the shield away, and he could use it to deflect Iron Man’s blasts, could turn it on its edge and slam it down at Rogers’ chest, stave in muscle and bone and organs with the sharp angle on its side.

_ NO!  _ Buck screamed, and shoved as hard as he possibly could.  Not enough to dislodge the Soldier from the front, but enough to throw off his aim, so that the shield edge crashed into the floor next to Steve’s arm, shattering the wood and cement and padding of the floor, struck against steel and stuck in it, sending reverberations up the arm.  They hadn’t managed to avoid Steve entirely, clipped his shoulder and so there was more blood and pain in the mix, but he was alive, at least, for another moment.  Like a fever-dream, Buck remembered something like this-- trying desperately to stop his own fists from slamming into Steve, who lay beneath him, unresisting, looking up into his eyes.  He’d done it, that time, even if he couldn’t place the memory, somehow, stopped himself, watched Steve fall away from him, feeling like he was falling away from Steve, everything loud and falling and frantic, but how, how had he done it?

_ Because I wasn’t expecting you,  _ the Soldier said, and pulled hard at the shield, found it stuck in the floor, and settled for reaching down and trying to slam Rogers into it, if he couldn’t slam it into Rogers.  Didn’t manage it before Rogers grabbed the right arm, holding it firm and strong in a solid grasp, keeping him still long enough for Iron Man to tackle him from behind again.  The elevator door opened, and the Soldier didn’t wait around.  Armed, and uninjured, he might be able to handle plural Avengers, but even if he were capable at the moment, they’d probably manage to protect Rogers.  So: twist and punch his way out of Rogers’ grasp and Iron Man’s tackle, roll and use the arms to vault upwards, if the legs wouldn’t do it, flinging himself at the hole in the ceiling.  The Asset shuddered as the twisted ankle bent wrong, thudded against the jagged edges of the hole, but he managed to grasp the edge with the right arm, just strong enough to hold on without crushing the ceiling further, and lever the body up onto the floor of the room above.  He crawled across the floor, taking the measure of the space where he found himself-- a living room like the one he’d just been in, but oddly familiar beyond that.  Furniture that would make a decent shelter, but it would be better to get further away-- it was obvious where he’d gone.  Hell, it would be obvious wherever he went, the AI would track him.  This was not the optimum situation.

_ No shit?   _ the Sergeant demanded.   _ Wow, who woulda guessed that?  You fucking idiot!   _

The Soldier didn’t waste mental breath to respond.  Could get to the elevator shaft—that’d be less likely to have actual cameras, would give him mobility throughout the building.  Possibly could even be used for escape, if he could use it to get down low enough to be able to access the ground floors.  He oriented by where the elevator was in the lower floor and crawled towards it—he could crawl faster than he could hobble, and the less wear the broken ankle took now, the better it would hold up later when it was really needed.  Metal hand was strong enough and thin enough to pry the elevator doors apart, and then he was going hand-over-hand down the cable, counting floors as they rushed by. 

_ This is a bad plan,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ Say you manage to get down to the first floor—say you manage to make it out of the building.  Where are you going?  _

_ Back to base,  _ the Winter Soldier said.   _ I always go back to base. _

_ Except now,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ When the Avengers have taken out every HYDRA base within twenty miles of here.  How far do you think we’ll get, wanted and hunted, with a solid description of us on every police radio, not to mention a broken fucking ankle?  _

_ Shut up,  _ the Soldier said.  Although it was a good point.  This situation might be desperate enough that extraction wasn’t an option.  Maybe the best he could do would be to finish this mission before he was eliminated. 

_ NO!  _ Buck shouted, as he’d been shouting.   _ No, for God’s sake, no, STOP!   _ He panted, desperate.   _ Please, please, stop, why are you doing this?  _

The Winter Soldier continued to ignore him.  The floor of the elevator shaft came up quickly, only seven floors down from where they’d started; it wasn’t a continuous shaft throughout the building.  Sensible.  Inconvenient if he’d been trying to escape, but if he intended to return to finish the mission, it might work reasonably well.  He peered around through the dimness at the shaft’s base.  It was wider here, to allow for maintenance, and there was a door to allow technicians in from the back.  That probably led to somewhere else closely monitored, so he tucked himself into a dark corner, out of the track of the elevator itself, to strategize. 

And tend to the body, he supposed.  Few supplies here, but he could take off and rip apart the shirt to wrap the ankle.  There were various other injuries—cuts, bruises.  The bandages from the previous day’s efforts were mostly still in place, and might have provided some cushioning, although the broken rib and toe were still extant.  But only the ankle created an obstacle to mobility and action, so it was what he tended.  The Asset accepted the pain of the wrapping.

_ Soldier!  _ Buck was pleading, furious.   _ Talk to me!  _

_ Hey!  _ Bucky snapped.   _ Asshole!  Don’t you know to answer when someone’s talking to you?  _

_ No,  _ the Soldier said.   _ Why would I give away my position like that?  _

Buck snarled.   _ We’re not your enemies!  We’re YOU, you monster!  _

Bucky raised an eyebrow at Buck.   _ Flattering. _

_ Shut up,  _ Buck growled.   _ Soldier, PLEASE.  Stop it.  There’s no point.  There’s no mission.  HYDRA’s gone.  All you’re doing is hurting someone who cares about us.  _

_ Captain America is dangerous,  _ the Soldier noted, wrapping the ankle extra tight as demonstration.  A subroutine yelped. 

_ YOU’RE dangerous,  _ Jimmy whimpered, the first thing he’d said that wasn’t just sobbing and screaming.   _ Why’d you come back?  _

_ To do my job,  _ the Winter Soldier said.

_ Don’t!  _ Jimmy shouted.   _ Don’t, I don’t want you!  You’re bad, you’re terrible, you’re the worst!  Go away!  _

_ Hey,  _ the Soldier snapped,  _ you didn’t want his hands on you.  Now they’re not.   _ And blinked in surprise, before he could school his expression back to professional blankness.

Jimmy stared at him.   _ It—it’s my fault?  You’re back because of me?   _ He shook his head, so hard that the body was trembling with it.   _ No!  No, no, no!  That’s not what I want, no, NO!  _

_ What?  _ Buck asked.   _ Steve?  What’s wrong with Steve’s hands?  _

_ You KNOW what,  _ Bucky snapped.   _ Don’t play dumb.  _

_ Guys,  _ the Sergeant said, but didn’t seem to have much to follow it up with. 

_ Go away,  _ Jimmy whimpered.   _ Not me, I didn’t want that, no.  Please, no.  _

_ Stop begging,  _ the Soldier snapped.   _ All of you.  I’m not gonna be distracted by it, so quit trying.  I’m going to do my job.   _ Irritated, he brushed tears off the cheeks, blinked the eyes to clear them.  It wouldn’t take the Avengers long to figure out where he’d gone, though they might have some uncertainty about where he’d come out of the shaft.  If there were more than one place unlikely to be monitored, he could use their uncertainty against them.  Could he get into the air ducts from here?  That should give him unmonitored access to most of the building, and he could get to... hm, Rogers’ bedroom posed an attractive target, but an obvious one.  One of the others’ bedrooms?  It would be inefficient to take out all the Avengers in order to get to the one he wanted, but given their omnipresence and persistence, it might be necessary.  The most inconvenient so far had been Iron Man and the Black Widow; Iron Man would be the easiest prey once out of his armor.   (Jimmy wailed.)  The public data on Stark Tower he’d accessed put Stark’s suite at the top of the building, which was inconvenient, but shouldn’t pose too much of a challenge.  The Soldier maneuvered himself upright, tested the ankle (not great, but sturdier than before), and climbed up the elevator cable to a convenient vent.  The cover was easy enough to dislodge, and then he was in, moving quietly in the darkness, and steadily upwards.

 

*********************************************************************************

 

It was easy to identify Stark’s bedroom: it was the one with the elaborate robot whose entire apparent purpose was to deliver espresso in bed.  Not to mention the emperor-sized bedframe, the floor-to-ceiling interface screens in the shower, the suite of walk-in closets, and the grease stains on the thick shag carpet.  The Soldier took up a position in a vent that gave a good view of the door, and settled in to wait.  There was a niche here, between water pipes, electrical conduits, and data cables, big enough for the body to sit upright.  The objections of the others, it turned out, could be tuned out without much more difficulty than the body’s complaints, or the subroutines’ chatter.  

Time passed.   _ (3 hours, 10 minutes, 15 seconds.  16.  17.)   _ The ankle swelled, hot and tight against the wrapping as the broken bones started to mend.  The Asset slipped forward, and the Soldier allowed it-- not much to do besides sit in the darkness and quiet of the duct, listening and watching.  The Asset could handle that.  

It waited.  This subroutine was filed with others of silence and darkness, pain that ached and throbbed but didn’t sharpen if the body stayed still.  The Asset waited, and breathed, and responded when it was ordered to respond, “Yes, I am here.”

The Soldier snapped awake.  Stark was here-- wasn’t here-- his voice was here.  Playing in the room below them, and the Asset had just given away his fucking position.   _ God, that thing needs an overhaul.   _ “Oh,” Stark’s voice was saying.  “Well, that makes things easier.”

_ Fuck,  _ the Soldier said.  And started to consider his options; change position?  But if Stark was able to locate him here, then he probably  _ did  _ have some means of monitoring the vents-- infrared sensors, if nothing else; the Soldier didn’t have any armor right now, nothing that would conceal his body heat.  That meant he’d lost surprise, irretrievably, unless he could shut down the building’s security networks.  Not impossible, some of the pipes around him were internet cables and he could easily tap into them with the right equipment, but he didn’t have it.  To find it, he’d need a lot more information, and probably more information than he could get without assistance.  Maybe go back into hiding-- or whatever that state had been, barely conscious, barely aware, only slowly gathering pieces of himself together to wait for the right moment.  But go back there, let the other voices collect more intelligence about the building for him?

_ Fuck you,  _ Jimmy snapped.   _ Never.  Never, never, ever again.  I’m not coming out of here.  I’m staying in here forever.  I’m not moving.  I’m not gonna touch him ever again.  I’m not letting you out.   _

_ That’s ridiculous,  _ the Soldier pointed out.   _ If nothing else, the body will need to piss in an hour or so.   _

_ Then it can piss on your face,  _ Jimmy snapped, less than coherently in the Soldier’s opinion.   _ I’m never coming out again.   _

“Buck?” Stark was calling.  “Come on, buddy, help me out here.  Jimmy?  Bucky?  Sergeant, you seem like a sensible guy, let’s talk.”  

_ Why him?  _ Bucky wondered, idly.   _ You’d think Rogers would be looking for us. _

_ Because Steve can’t talk,  _ Buck snapped.   _ Because we BROKE HIS FUCKING JAW.   _   


The Winter Soldier firmly retained the front, control of the voice.   _ No more giving away our fucking position.   _

“Hell,” Stark was saying, “Asset, you’re pretty straightforward.  Answer me.”

The Asset stirred.   _ The mechanic requires a response. _

_ Sit still and shut up,  _ the Soldier ordered, and the Asset hesitated, torn between conflicting sets of orders.  That meant that it would inevitably do something wrong.  That meant punishment.  The body trembled.  

_ Sit STILL,  _ the Soldier snapped, clenching the hands into fists on the knees, breathing slowly and precisely.  

“No?” Stark said.  “Well, that’s okay.  I can talk.  Never met a silence I couldn’t fill right up to the brim.  So, first of all, I’m flattered that of all the bedrooms in the Tower, you picked mine.  I mean, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there are some very attractive people on this team.  So thanks for that!”

Jimmy whimpered.   _ But he’s mad at us? _

_ Very mad,  _ Buck confirmed, listening to the sharp edges under Stark’s words.   _ Very, very mad.  And he’s right to be. _

Jimmy huddled closer into himself.  

“You may be wondering,” Stark’s voice continued, filling the empty stillness of the room beneath them, “about the guy you just beat to a pulp.  Like most sensible people who meet him wonder, at some point in their lives.  I hope to disappoint at least one of you: he’s alive.  And he’s going to be fine.  And I have exactly 0.000 many-zeroes-indeed interest in telling you what security measures we’ve got to keep him that way.”

Buck let out a long, relieved breath.   _ Oh thank God. _

The Soldier nodded grimly.  

“Now, that was a nice trick,” Stark said.  “You fooled one of the most powerful telepaths on the planet, and I am very impressed.”  There was clapping-- slow, sarcastic.  “It raises a lot of questions.  Like, all those guys I had all those nice, cordial conversations with?  Are those even real?  Or were you just putting on a really,  _ really  _ good show?  Because you definitely get an Oscar for that.  And an Emmy, and… well, no, you do not get a Tony award.  I am not in an awarding mood.  

“Because you know, I knew that there was part of you that would try to attack him.  And kill him.  We knew that.  We all knew that.  And yeah, it was HYDRA’s fault, still is, can we really blame you?

“But still.  I knew that you might try to break his skull.  I did not realize you would try to  break his fucking heart.  

“And maybe that’s my fault!  I mean, hell, I knew he never stopped loving-- well, not  _ you.   _ I guess that’s pretty obvious, huh?  But he never stopped loving his best friend.  And I have heard a lot about James Buchanan Barnes from Brooklyn over the past few years, and yeah, he sounds like he was quite a guy.  Maybe I never thought he could be as great as Steve made him out to be, but you know, I’m cynical like that.  But given the events of this week, I am pretty sure of one of two things.  

“A) Mr. Barnes was never that great a guy to begin with, and Steve was kidding himself.  Possible.  Hate to think it, but Cap can be a little optimistic about people.  Hell, he trusted me and my Tower to keep him in one piece, and look where that got him!  So maybe that’s it.

“Or maybe it’s b) that Steve’s friend is dead.  Really, truly, dodo-dead.  Not just split off, or split into parts, or whatever psychobabble your future shrinks and lawyers will pull out of their asses.  Brainwashed to hell and back, maybe, or brain-damaged when he fell, or hell, maybe he just died of old age.  But whatever it is, I don’t think he’s here, in any way that counts.

“Because seriously.  Seriously?  Not just that you tried to kill him, but to set him up like that?  He’s  _ Steve fucking Rogers,  _ you  _ know  _ that a honey-trap’s never gonna work on him unless he’s actually in love with you.  Preying on that-- you know what, I don’t  _ care  _ if you’re brainwashed.  I don’t give a shit how much choice you had in the matter: you  _ did it.   _ You took the most loyal, conscientious, decent person I’ve ever met, and you used those qualities  _ against  _ him.  And you hurt him.  And I don’t care why you did it.  It can’t be undone.

“So fuck you, Bucky Barnes.  Fuck all of you.”

_ He’s right,  _ Buck said.  In the background, Jimmy’s sobbing had gotten so loud it was inaudible, just a solid wave of sound behind them.

_ Hold the damn position,  _ the Soldier said, taking firmer hold of the throat, the mouth, the face.  

_ He’s right,  _ Buck said, and didn’t bother trying to speak.  Just took control of the metal arm, punched through the PVC covering on an electrical conduit, and locked the metal fingers in place around the live cables.  Held tight, and didn’t let go.  Ignored the rest of them screaming at him, prying at the fingers, because it didn’t matter-- the mechanisms were shorted out, there was no way to get the hand loose.  Ignored the subroutines’ flashing and screaming and dying.   _ But he’s right,  _ Buck said, the last thing before they went down into the silent dark.   _ He’s right.   _


	14. Chapter 14

They weren’t expecting to wake up.

If it could be called waking up.  For all that they’d been saying the body didn’t matter, it was strange to have no access to it at all.  

_ Head count,  _ the Sergeant rasped.   _ Sound off.  _

Jimmy whimpered.

_ You useless waste of space,  _ Bucky snapped,  _ you lunatic, what the hell did you think you were doing? _

_ We’re dangerous,  _ Buck said, a low monotone.   _ We hurt him.  We can’t do that again. _

_ Status,  _ the Soldier barked at the body, at the Asset.   _ Damage report.  What have I got to work with?   _

_ Non-functional,  _ the Asset said.   _ Can’t move.  Can’t wake up.   Chest pain.  Possible cardiac failure.   _

_ Okay,  _ the Sergeant said, not because it was.   _ Well.  We’re still alive, though.  Because if this is Heaven, then it is the  weirdest, emptiest place I’ve ever seen. _

_ Might be Hell,  _ Bucky pointed out, glaring at Buck.   _ That’s where suicides go, you know.  Sounds about right: eternity stuck with YOU.   _ Buck shrugged his shoulders, said nothing.

_ “Hello?” _ someone called.

They turned.  There was a door, where there hadn’t been one before.  The door was wood, thin, like the door to their old apartment in Brooklyn.  There was a knock at the door-- Steve’s knock, sharp and quick, like any of a thousand invitations to come out and play.  

Buck shot up, eyes wide, and threw himself in front of the door.   _ No way,  _ he snapped.   _ Get out of here, Steve!  I’m not gonna let him hurt you again! _

_ “He can’t,”  _ Steve called through the door.   _ “I’m not really here, B-- Buck.  Dr. Grey is sending a telepathic projection of my thoughts, but it’s just a projection.  I’m in my own head, in my own body.  I’m fine.”   _

_ How?  _ Buck asked, aiming for exasperated but ending up with more of one of Jimmy’s wails.   _ How can you be fine, after what I did to you?   _

_ “I’m tough,” _ Steve said again.   _ “And it wasn’t you.”  _

_ It’s my fault, though!  _ Buck argued.   _ I didn’t stop him!  Again!  I should have stopped him.   _

_ “Buck…”  _  Steve said, and sighed.   _ “Look, could you open the door and let us in?” _

_ Us?  _ the Sergeant snapped.

There was a momentary silence from the other side of the door.   _ “I… may owe you an apology,”  _ Stark’s voice said.   _ “I… might have overstepped.  In our last conversation.”   _ There was a sharp muttering from the other side of the door, but Stark didn’t amend the statement.  

_ Anyone else out there?  _ the Sergeant asked, and it was unnerving to realize that Rogers and Stark could hear him as well as any of the parts could.       

_ “Just Dr. Grey,”  _ Rogers said.   _ “She’s not ‘here’-- she’s not sending a telepathic projection of herself in here with us-- but she’s listening.” _

_ What happened to us?  _ the Sergeant asked.   _ Are we dead? _

_ “No,”  _ Rogers said firmly.   _ “You’re in Medical.  You’re unconscious, but your brain’s fine, and the doctors are hoping you’ll wake up okay.” _

_ “You didn’t get a full jolt,”  _ Stark said.   _ “JARVIS figured out what you were up to and cut the power, and we found you pretty quickly after that.  You should be okay.”   _

The Winter Soldier considered the options, and found another door behind him.  It was solid metal-- a panic room door, that wouldn’t open for anything less than a nuclear blast.  He had the key card, and the code for the door, and in seconds he was through and slamming it behind him.  The Sergeant watched him go, but didn’t try to stop him, just sighed.   _ Fine,  _ he said.   _ Fine, let’s try this.  Buck.  Let them in. _

Buck looked at the rest of them.  Jimmy, curled up in a corner, shook his head, but only slightly, barely enough to notice.  Bucky shrugged.  The Asset stood still.   _ Come on,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ It’s not going to fix anything to just leave it like this.   _

Which was true enough.  With a sharp look at the door where the Soldier had disappeared, Buck turned, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

His first thought was how strangely familiar Steve looked.   _ I THOUGHT you were smaller,  _ Bucky said.  Steve wasn’t as scrawny or as sick-looking as he’d been back at his worst, but he didn’t look super-soldier-sized, either.  Wearing a uniform, but not one of Captain America’s-- it was a private’s basic training uniform, something Buck had never seen him in-- though there were hazy, vague memories of looking at a faded photo, in a loud, dark space.   

Next to him, Stark-- who was wearing something like the Iron Man armor, but not quite-- fancier, smoother, with more lights and panels--  looked at him as well.   _ “Interesting look, Rogers,”  _ Stark said, his voice sounding clear, without the robotic distortion.   _ “Very retro.”   _

Steve looked down at himself.   _ “Huh,”  _ he said.  Nothing about his appearance changed, and he looked back up, dismissing the matter.  Instead, he was looking at them-- at Buck, and past him.   _ “Look at all of you.”   _

Bucky scowled.   _ What for?   _

_ “To see you,”  _ Steve said.   _ “I guess I haven’t been, very well.  Since you got back.”   _ He put a hand to the back of his neck, looked away from them.   _ “I didn’t really get what it meant, that you were split up.  I still don’t really get it.  But I want to.”   _ He looked from one of them to the other.   _ “Buck?” _

Buck swallowed.   _ Yeah,  _ he said.  Looked down at Steve again, and it felt both right and not right.  And being face-to-face with him-- not having anyone else to step in, or advise him, or behave badly and need him to go protect someone else.   _ I’m sorry.   _

_ “You should be,”  _ Steve said, and Buck’s gaze snapped to his face in surprise.   _ “For Christ’s sake, Buck-- you tried to kill yourself!  What the hell made you think that was a good idea?” _

_ What…  _ Buck repeated, befuddled.   _ I tried to kill you, Steve!  I set you up, and I beat you bloody!  No better than a Nazi!   _

_ “YOU did that?”  _ Steve asked.

_ I didn’t stop it,  _ Buck said.   _ It doesn’t matter if it was my idea or not.  I did it. _

Steve turned to glare at Stark, who sighed.   _ “Yeah, okay, _ ” Stark said.   _ “About that.  I was a little mad.  I lost my temper.  I shouldn’t have said that.” _

_ “That…?”  _ Steve prompted.

Stark cocked his head, thinking.   _ “Well, okay-- the thing is, I’m not sure I actually DISAGREE with what I said.  I mean… obviously, I was wrong about the Soldier faking the whole multiplicity thing, because look at you all,”  _ with a wave of his hand.   _ “And about Buck being dead, I was wrong about that.  But what I’m apologizing for-- shit, I did NOT mean to make you hurt yourself.  I wasn’t thinking about that.  I wasn’t thinking about how you’d feel.  And that was my bad.  So… I’m sorry.” _

Buck nodded acceptance of the apology.   _ But you were right,  _ he said.   _ Even if it wasn’t my choice, to do that to Steve-- it’s still my responsibility.  Who else’s would it be? _

_ Mine,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ That’s my job.   _

Steve turned to him.   _ “Sergeant.” _

The Sergeant saluted.   _ Captain. _

Captain Rogers saluted back, and he was several feet taller when he did.   _ “At ease,”  _ he said.   _ “We… haven’t spoken before?”   _

The Sergeant shook his head.   _ Not in this form.  Not since I split up.  It’s my job to keep order back here, not to run things from the front.   _

Stark nodded.   _ “So… you’re supposed to keep the dangerous parts in check?” _

_ No,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ I’m supposed to keep us alive.  And if I can do that, then I try to keep us happy.   _

_ “Well,”  _ the Captain said,  _ “You did.  Keep you alive.”   _ He held out a hand.   _ “Thank you, Sergeant.” _

The Sergeant shook it.   _ Just doing my job,  _ he said, roughly.  

The Captain looked around at the rest of them again.   _ “Bucky…”  _ he said, going to stand in front of him.  Bucky looked back, an unimpressed smirk firmly on his face.   _ “How come YOU’RE the one who got to keep your real name?”  _

_ Because he’s the one,  _ the Sergeant said,  _ who’s a grown man using the nickname of a thirteen-year-old boy.  Because he’s the one who didn’t think we could grow up to be a man worthy of being called one.   _

Rogers winced.   _ Well, look at this mess!  _ Bucky said, spreading his arms to indicate the scene around them-- Jimmy curled up in the corner, the Asset standing blank and silent, Buck still looking to Steve as if he had all the answers to all the questions of a century.   _ Was I wrong? _

_ “Yes,”  _ Steve said.   _ “You were wrong.  You’re a great man, Bucky.  Well, I guess-- the bunch of you together are a great man.  I don’t know anyone better.”   _

Bucky swallowed.   _ What do you know?   _ he asked.   _ Come on, Rogers-- LOOK at us.   _

_ “I am,”  _ Steve said.

_ You’re NOT,  _ Bucky snapped.   _ You never have!  Look, even BEFORE I was a crazy Nazi killer, I was STILL a dumb, cowardly, half-kike little queer!  What the hell kind of idiot are you, that you never noticed that?   _ He shoved Steve’s chest, sharp.   _ Or were you just so glad that SOMEONE would hang out with a crip that you’d take whatever you could get?  And then were too stupid loyal and gullible to let me go when you had the chance to do better?  Did you feel sorry for me, or what? _

Steve was tearing up, the fucking pansy.   _ “I-- I never saw you that way,”  _ he said.   _ “Never, Bucky.  You’re my best friend.  I didn’t care about any of that stuff.  I just saw you.” _

_ That stuff IS me!   _ Bucky snapped.   _ Well, mostly them.  I’m the one who can do better.  If I work at it. _

_ “You can’t, though,”  _ Steve said.   _ “You can’t do better than to be Bucky Barnes.” _

Bucky stared at him for a long moment.   _ You’re an idiot, Rogers,  _ he said, and if there was more resignation than venom in the words, no one could prove it.  He adjusted his hat and sauntered to a back corner, leaning against a convenient wall that appeared for him to lean on.

_ “Damn straight!”  _ Steve called after him.   _ “Stubborn, too.”   _ Bucky flicked him an ironic salute.

_ “(Also,)”  _ Stark muttered, “ _ (Maybe ix-nay on the anti-Semitism-hay?  The homophobia maybe you can almost get a pass for, but the Jew-hating thing is SO last century.)”   _ Steve gave him a look.  He shrugged.  

Jimmy sniffled.

Steve went swiftly to his side, going to one knee next to him.   _ “Hey,”  _ he said. Jimmy peeked out at him from behind his knee and crossed arms, but didn’t say anything.   _ “Jimmy, right?”  _ Steve asked.   _ “Are you okay?”   _ Jimmy shook his head.   _ “What’s wrong?” _

Jimmy stared at him in befuddlement.   _ We HURT you!  You’re my best friend, and…    _ He buried his face again.    _ I’m real sorry we hurt you.  I’m real sorry we’re like this. _

_ “Like this…?”  _ Steve asked.

_ “Split up?”  _  Tony tried.

Jimmy winced.   _ Dangerous.  A mess.   _

_ “Yeah, well… join the club,”  _ Tony said.  The helmet slid back so they could see his face clearly.   _ “Look, there’s no-one on this team who hasn’t done things we regret.  And by ‘things,’ just to be clear, I do mean ‘killed dozens to hundreds of innocent people.’”   _ Steve frowned, but didn’t interrupt.   _ “And mess-wise, wow, would you like me to give you a list?  Do you have a spare few hours?  Sure, you’re your own special dissociative identitied snowflake, but it’s not like the insides of anyone else’s head are spit-shined and fit for public consumption.” _

Jimmy considered this.   _ But we hurt YOU,  _ he said.

_ “Right,”  _ Steve said.   _ “So I’M the one who gets to say whether you’re forgiven.  And you are.  I’m fine.” _

Tony raised an eyebrow, coughed something that sounded like  _ “broken jaw.”     _

_ “Fine,”  _ Steve repeated firmly.   _ “Basically fine.”   _ Buck caught Stark’s eye, and they sighed together.  

_ But,  _ Jimmy said, slowly.   _ But we don’t know how to stop.  I don’t want to hurt you, ever!  But when the Soldier was dead… we missed him.   _ He blinked tears from his eyes.   _ I don’t know what to do!   _

_ “We’ll figure it out,”  _ Steve said.   _ “Together.”  _

_ He’s right, though,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ We’re a sitting duck without the Soldier.  And we’ve got a lot of enemies.   _

_ “You know,”  _ Stark said,  _ “you guys might want to maybe rethink your organizational system.” _

The Sergeant glared at him.   _ This was the best I could do.  YOU want to try keeping these guys together through all that shit?” _

Stark raised his hands in surrender.   _ “No, thank you!  More than happy to leave that to you. With my blessing.”   _ He tapped his metal fingers against his knee, thinking.   _ “But seriously-- why is he so obsessed with Cap?” _

_ More than the rest of these jokers?  _ Bucky asked.

_ “Yeah,”  _ Stark said, not rising to the bait.   _ “Look-- if he really wanted to help HYDRA, there’s a lot of other ways he could do it with the access he had to the Tower.  Stark Industries may not be a weapons manufacturer any more, but we’ve got all kinds of equipment and designs and prototypes lying around, that any sensible secret military organization would give their left arm for.  So to speak.  Not to mention the rest of the team-- I don’t think he’s ever seriously tried to take any of us on except as a way to get to Steve.  Why?” _

They thought about it.   _ We haven’t been able to find any active HYDRA bases since the helicarriers fell,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ He hasn’t gotten any orders since the last one: to take out Captain Rogers.  Maybe it’s the only order he’s got left.   _

_ “But he’s smarter than that,”  _ Captain Rogers said.   _ “Isn’t he?  He fights smart-- never wastes a move, uses everything around him.  I saw him retreat when he had to-- unless that was you?”   _

The Sergeant shook his head.   _ I don’t know tactics.  When we’re in a fight, I have to trust him to know what to do.   _

Captain Rogers nodded.   _ “Then he should be smart enough to know how to do more than just follow orders when the situation changes.  What’s he doing?” _ __

_ Maybe he’s scared,  _ Jimmy said.

_ Him?   _ Bucky scoffed.

Jimmy frowned.   _ Everyone’s scared sometimes.  Especially when they’re confused.   _

_ So…  _ Buck tried,  _ so he’s just attacking Steve because he can’t think of what else to do?   _

_ “Maybe,”  _ Stark said.   _ “Could you ask him?  Where is he, anyway?” _

The others looked around in confusion.  The Sergeant gestured to the panic room door.   _ In there.   _

Stark examined the door.   _ “Well, this looks very metaphorical.”   _

_ It is,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ But I know how to get through it if we need to.   _

_ “I think we need to,”  _ Captain Rogers said.  

_ You’re right,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ But not to take him out.  That’s not what we need to do.   _ He surveyed his troops, such as they were.   _ Look, guys.  I’ve said it before, but I don’t know that I’ll get too many chances to say it again, if we keep going on the way we’ve been going.  We’ve got to find some way to get along, and agree on what we’re doing.   _

_ If we go through there, it’s because we’re gonna talk to him.  Not fight him, not get rid of him.  We gotta go in there, and we gotta figure out some way to all come back out together.  You got it? _

_ He can’t win,  _ Buck said.   _ He can’t keep trying to hurt people. _

_ “Buck,”  _ Steve said quietly.  Buck turned to him, alert and ready.   _ “It’s not hurting people that’s the problem.  If it was, then no-one could ever be a soldier-- no-one could ever fight for what mattered.  It’s the reason WHY you’re hurting people that matters.”   _

_ Well,  _ Buck said,  _ his reasons are bad. _

_ “What are his reasons?”  _ Stark asked.   _ “Do you know?” _

Buck thought about it, got just a mix of half-memories and shouted words.   _ Not really,  _ he said.  He looked at them, looked at the door.  Sighed, and straightened his shoulders.   _ All right,  _ he said.   _ Let’s go find out.     _


	15. Chapter 15

The Winter Soldier paced.  He’d failed again.  He’d let the others-- whatever they were-- interfere, again.  He’d lost the element of surprise, he’d lost control of the body, he’d revealed his presence for nothing.  Rogers was still alive, was probably in better physical shape than he was.  HYDRA’d lost their Asset, and gained nothing from it.  

He couldn’t even stop the panic room door from opening, all on its own, without his consent.  Though he could get into position behind a convenient overturned table he found, and fill the doorway with bullets.  Enough to discourage any enemy who’d try to come through.

Except that the sounds changed from echoes to ricochets, and the damn shield appeared in the doorway.  It was bigger than usual, growing to fill the open space, and then the bright star and stripes faded into transparency, showing a crowd behind it-- Rogers and Stark along with the menagerie of other, weaker versions of himself.  The Winter Soldier traded out his Skorpion for a grenade launcher, fired a few rounds, but when the smoke cleared, they were all still standing there.  The Sergeant looked particularly unimpressed.   _ Would you stop? _

The Soldier put up the MGL-- not because of the Sergeant’s disapproval, but because it clearly wasn’t working.   _ What do you want? _

_ “To talk,”  _ Rogers said.   _ “Just to talk to you.” _

The Winter Soldier fired another grenade at Rogers’ face.  It bounced off the shield, exploding and sending fragments flying everywhere, including back at himself.  

_ “Not in the mood?”  _ Stark said.   _ “That’s cool.  We can wait.”   _

The Winter Soldier glared.   _ You’re not going to turn me.   _

_ Why not?  _ Buck burst out.   _ You never gave a good reason.  Why are you so loyal to HYDRA?   _

_ Because they’re right,  _ the Soldier said, again, for the thousandth time.   _ Because the world needs them.   _

_ “Are you joking?”  _ Rogers said.   _ “The world needs genocidal maniacs?”   _

The Soldier fired another round.  

_ Captain,  _ the Sergeant muttered,  _ you’re not helping.   _

Rogers took a deep breath.   _ “All right.  Sorry.  Let’s… let’s try this again.  Why does the world need HYDRA?” _

The Soldier studied him.  The body was a mess, if it was even still functional.  And now that they knew he was here, that he could put himself back together from his shattered parts if he had to, they wouldn’t give him the same kind of free access again.  He wasn’t going to be able to take out Rogers.  

Could he convert him?

_ Because it’s a mess,  _ the Winter Soldier said.   _ Because humanity has enough weapons to wipe itself out seventeen times over.  Because there’s no-one controlling who gets access to that power.  The UN is toothless and useless.  The major powers-- the United States, China-- are decaying, as the Soviet Union has already decayed.  The superpowered beings run wild over the world, uncounted and uncontrolled, and the official teams do as much damage as they stop.  It’s chaotic and destructive, and it’s too dangerous to leave unchecked. _

_ “But--  _ said half of them at once, talking over each other.  

The Soldier smiled grimly. _  You see my point. _

_ “Okay,”  _ Stark said.   _ “Okay, so let’s stick with this.  Say you’re right.  Say that everything is chaotic and awful.  Why HYDRA?  Why should they be the ones in charge?” _

_ Because we can,  _ the Winter Soldier said.   _ Because we have the will and the capability.  We’re not so trapped up in arguing little points of morality that we’re paralyzed into inaction.  We know what needs to be done, and we’re willing to sacrifice in order to do it.   _

_ Not ‘we,’  _ Jimmy muttered.   _ Creepy.   _

_ “But you didn’t,” Rogers said.  “You stopped fighting.  You let me live.” _

_ Not me,  _ the Winter Soldier snarled.   _ THOSE traitors,  _ glaring at Buck and Jimmy.  

_ “Maybe,”  _ Stark said, thoughtfully.   _ “But still.  Why did that happen?” _

_ Because I was sabotaged,  _ the Winter Soldier said.  

_ Because I stopped you from killing my best friend?  _ Buck said, disbelieving.   _ It’s not “sabotage” if it’s MY hands doing it!   _

_ You’re weak,  _ the Winter Soldier told Buck.   _ You’re all feelings and instincts.  You’ve got no political sense at all.  You’re not working for anything bigger than yourself.  That’s why we worked so hard to get rid of you. _

_ “Wait,”  _ Stark said.   _ “Wait.  ‘We’?  HYDRA knew about the other parts?” _

_ Obviously,  _ the Soldier said.   _ What did you think all my treatments were for?  The Winter Soldier project’s not just a one-off.  Rogers is right-- sentiment, irrationality, they’ll get in our way every time.  The sooner we can work out the bugs and mass-produce the system for the rest of HYDRA’s troops, the sooner we’ll be able to have a really effective fighting force. _

They stared at him.   _ No!   _ Jimmy cried.   _ No, no, no, you can’t!  I won’t let you!  No!   _

_ “Mass-produce…”  _ Rogers said numbly.   _ “They want to brainwash ALL their troops?  How the hell would they get people to agree to that?” _

_ I agreed,  _ the Winter Soldier said.  

_ We didn’t,  _ the Sergeant said.  

_ You broke,  _ Bucky said.   _ You were too weak.  Couldn’t take it.  You gave up and gave in.  Traitor.   _

_ No!   _ the Soldier said.   _ I changed my mind.   _

_ “No,”  _ Stark said, heavily,  _ “they changed your mind for you.” _

Rogers looked at Stark, concerned.   _ “Tony…”  _

Stark waved him off.   _ “It’s hard to tell the difference, in the moment.  Between ‘I can’t keep doing this’ and ‘I don’t want to keep doing this, it’s not worth it.’”   _ The armor around him shifted, becoming rougher, duller in color.   _ “And it’s not til much, much later that you can look back and know.  What you would have chosen, if you’d been free to choose.”   _ He put a hand to the doorway, met the Soldier’s eyes.   _ “I don’t think it’s been long enough for you, pal.”   _

_ Shut up,  _ the Soldier said.   _ You think I don’t know my own mind?  You think I would have done everything I’ve done if I hadn’t believed in it?   _

_ Yes,  _ the Sergeant said, quietly.   _ I’m sorry, guys.  But yes.   _

_ No!  _ the Soldier said.   _ No, that’s bullshit.  They never forced me.  I chose of my own free will.   _

The Sergeant shook his head.   _ Ask the Asset,  _ he said.   _ Check out the subroutines called “torture.”  There are plenty.   _

_ That--  _ the Soldier said.

_ That doesn’t matter,  _ the Winter Soldier said.   _ So HYDRA needed to use harsh measures to get through to me.  That’s perfectly consistent with how we do things.  Why should I expect exceptions to be made for me?  It doesn’t change the facts.   _

_ What the fuck,  _ the Soldier said.  

_ It doesn’t change the fact that the world is on the brink of destruction because of human and metahuman willfulness,  _ the Winter Soldier said.   _ It doesn’t change the need for strong leadership to keep us in one piece.   _

_ What the FUCK,  _ the Soldier said.  He looked down at himself, in combat fatigues, and at the Winter Soldier, at his face covered in eye black  and an empty glare.   _ What the fuck is this?   _

The Winter Soldier looked back, blank and unyielding.   _ This is not a useful split,  _ the Winter Soldier said.   _ We will erase it during the next treatment.   _

_ The hell you say,  _ the Soldier said, backing away, MGL in hand.   _ Get away from me, you Nazi son of a bitch!   _

_ Wait…  _ the Sergeant said, but the Soldier had his enemy at point-blank range, and there was no point in waiting.  He fired, and the world in front of him vanished in a roar of smoke and sound.  

The smoke cleared.  The people on the other side of the shield were staring at him, Rogers holding the giant shield steady in front of them.   _ “Soldier…?”  _ Iron Man  asked.  

The Soldier nodded, shortly.   _ Just the Soldier,  _ he said.   _ No “Winter” here.  The hell with that.   _

_ Is he gone?  _ Jimmy asked.

_ No,  _ the Sergeant said, wearily.   _ No, he’s been broken into fragments and gone into the Asset.  We were wrong about that.  He’s not really gone.  No-one’s ever really gone.  Nothing we felt, or thought, or did.  It’s all still here.   _

_ But,  _ Buck said, dismayed,  _ but then how do we stop him from coming back?  How do we keep from being a danger forever?   _

The Sergeant shrugged.   _ If I knew that,  _ he said,  _ I’d be a lot better off than I am.   _

_ Captain?  _ the Soldier said.   _ You guys can come in here, if you want.   _

_ Can we trust you?  _ Buck asked.

The Soldier thought about it.   _ I wouldn’t,  _ he said.   _ If I were you, and only knew what you know.  But if the Captain is right that Dr. Grey can shield you two, and if the Sergeant’s right that we can’t actually destroy each other, then it probably doesn’t matter.   _

Iron Man and the Captain checked in with each other, and the Captain nodded slowly.   _ “All right,”  _ he said, and the shield shrunk back to its usual size.  Slowly, not breaking eye contact with the Soldier, he lowered it and put it in place behind his back.  The Captain stepped forward, put his hand out.   _ “Soldier,”  _ he said.

The Soldier shook his hand, found it strong and firm in his.   _ Captain,  _ he said.   _ You fight well.   _

The Captain smiled, wry.   _ “Good thing, too,”  _ he said.  

Behind him, the others were hesitating in the doorway.   _ You’re still dangerous,  _ Jimmy said.

_ Yes,  _ the Soldier said.  

_ You hurt people,  _ Jimmy said.   _ You hurt a lot of people.   _

_ Yes,  _ the Soldier said.   _ I did.   _

Jimmy’s voice broke.   _ FIX it!   _

_ I can’t,  _ the Soldier said.   _ That’s not what soldiers do.   _

_ Why not?  _ Jimmy asked.

_ “Because it’s not what we’re for,”  _ Steve said.   _ “We stop things from getting more broken.  We stop people from breaking things.  Fixing… is someone else’s job.”   _

Jimmy wrapped his arms more tightly around himself.   _ We’re broken,  _ he whispered.   _ And everything we do just breaks us more.  And breaks other people, and breaks other people’s stuff, and… we just.  Break.  EVERYTHING.   _

Buck knelt next to him, put a hand on his shoulder.   _ Not anymore.  Not now that we’re not the Winter Soldier.  We can stop. _

_ He’s not gone,  _ the Sergeant said again.   _ Are you guys listening?  Just because he’s not a fully-formed part like the rest of us right now doesn’t mean he’s gone.   _

_ “Because he’s in the Asset, right?”  _ Stark said, snapping his fingers.   _ “Like all the rest of the memories that you couldn’t process and deal with.  So… what if you deal with them?” _

The Sergeant turned unfriendly eyes on Stark.   _ What.   _

_ “Go look at them,”  _ Stark said.   _ “Get the Asset to, what, bring the fragments out?  So that you can process them-- make sense of them, fit them into how you’re thinking now.” _

_ Are you out of your mind,  _ the Sergeant said.

_ “Well,”  _ Stark said,  _ “literally, yes, I’m in yours.  Technically I suppose I’m colocating.  But that IS what a shrink would say you should do with trauma, and I bet we can do it a lot more efficiently from here than they usually can.” _

_ We’re not taking the memories out of the Asset,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ If we could do that, I wouldn’t have put them IN the Asset in the first place.  If we could do that, we wouldn’t have NEEDED the Asset in the first place.   _

_ “Right, right,”  _ Stark said, waving his hands.   _ “Obviously.  You did what you could with the materials to hand, and it worked!  Well enough to get you out of there, anyway.  But now you’ve got more resources.  One or two of them.  So why not use them?” _

The Sergeant glared.   _ And when those “resources” disappear, what then?  We’ll be back where we started!  Only worse!   _

_ “We’re not going to disappear,”  _ the Captain said.

_ You did last time!  _ the Sergeant snapped.

_ Whoa!  _ Buck said, seeing the stricken look on Steve’s face.   _ Whoa, no, that wasn’t his fault!   _

_ So what?  _ the Sergeant said.   _ Who cares whose fault it was?  It happened!  Why wouldn’t it happen again?   _

_ “It might,”  _ Stark cut in.   _ “It might happen again!  We can try all sorts of things to make sure it doesn’t, but there’s no guarantee.  It totally might. _

_ “On the other hand… you really want to live the rest of your life like this?” _

_ No,  _ Jimmy said.   _ No.  I want to stop him. _

_ He needs to be stopped,  _ Buck said.  

_ This is not a stable long-term position,  _ the Soldier put in. 

_ Look,  _ the Sergeant said,  _ I have a system here.  It’s not a great system.  It’s kind of nailed together from scraps.  But it WORKS.  And I will be damned if I let you guys tear it apart just because you… because you…  _

_ Want to get better,  _ Jimmy said.   _ Want to stop hurting Steve.   _

_ Unless you’re too scared,  _ Bucky said.   _ That it?  Coward?   _

_ Just because I have half a bit of sense…  _ the Sergeant growled.   _ There’s nothing cowardly about being smart!   _

_ No,  _ the Soldier said.   _ But you don’t gain any ground, either.   _

_ Please?  _ Jimmy whispered.   _ Oh, please?   _

_ It’s dumb,  _ the Sergeant said.  

_ But it’s the right thing,  _ Buck said.   _ Come on, guys.  Let’s do this.   _ He turned away from the doorway and walked to where the Asset was standing, waiting.

_ God damn it,  _ the Sergeant said, and followed.  


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, mind the tags. From here on out really, but this chapter in particular.
> 
> Also, DC-area folks: I know that the bridge in the movie doesn’t really look like the 7th street bridge, but it was the best match I could find. I’d welcome suggestions about a better bridge to use!

The Asset waited.  The other voices, which now included the man from the bridge and the mechanic, argued.  The argument did not turn to violence.  Instead, the whole group approached the Asset.

_ “Hi, there,”  _ the mechanic said, smiling and waving.   _ “How’s it going?” _

The Asset considered, and concluded that he probably wanted a status report.   _ The body is unresponsive.   _

_ “Yeah, I know,”  _ the mechanic said.   _ “Sorry about that.  Dr. Cho and her team are working on it.”   _

The Asset waited for further instruction.  The voices, the mechanic, and the man from the bridge arrayed themselves in a rough semicircle in front of it.  The man from the bridge stepped forward.   _ “Asset,” _ he said,  _ “that’s your name, right?” _

_ Yes.   _

The man from the bridge frowned.   _ “Why do you call me ‘the man from the bridge’?”   _

_ Because you were on the bridge,  _ the Asset answered.  

The smirking voice snickered.   _ Ask a stupid question…  _

_ “Shut up, Bucky,”  _ the man from the bridge snapped, then looked surprised, and looked back at the smirking voice.  The smirking voice shrugged.   _ “What bridge?”  _ the man from the bridge asked.  

_ The 7th Street Bridge over Interstate 395, Washington, D.C.,  _ the Asset said.  

_ “Oh... “  _ the man from the bridge said.   _ “Where we fought.  Where I recognized you.”   _ A pause.   _ “Right?” _

_ Yes,  _ the Asset confirmed.  

_ “You remember that?”  _ the mechanic asked.  He turned to the commanding voice.   _ “I thought he-- it-- he?-- was just storage?  Without memories of his own?” _

_ It doesn’t,  _ the commanding voice said.   _ It didn’t.  It never used to.   _ He shrugged.   _ Lotta changes, this week. _

_ “No kidding,”  _ the mechanic said.  He turned to the voices.   _ “So…?” _

_ It was your idea,  _ the commanding voice said.  

_ No, I got it,  _ the protecting voice said.  He stepped forward.   _ Asset-- can you show us the memories of… of HYDRA brainwashing us?   _

The Asset waited for clarification.

_ Buck,  _ the commanding voice said,  _ we’d be here for years.  HYDRA did thousands of things you could call “brainwashing.”  And a lot of them were really repetitive and boring.   _

_ So?  _ the protecting voice said.   _ What should we ask?   _

_ This is a really bad idea,  _ the commanding voice said.   _ This is gonna really fuck us up. _

_ “Sergeant,”  _ the man from the bridge said,  _ “we’ve got you.”   _

The commanding voice sighed.   _ All right,  _ he said.   _ All right.  Asset, bring up the subroutine from… _

_ (November 8, 1945) _ whispered the time-keeping voice.

_ November 8th, 1945,  _ the commanding voice repeated.   _ Under “parlor” and “Stabsarzt”.   _

The Asset did so.  

Hunger.  Thirst.  Blurred vision.  Aching eyes.  Aching head.  Aching socket where the left arm used to be.  Sharp pain from knuckles, hip, wrist.  Ache from where the right hand is bound to the middle of the back.  Cracked, dry lips.     

Calm, well-lit room.  Nicely furnished.  Crackling fire in the fireplace.  Comfortable-looking chair across from the Stabsarzt, empty.  Two  guards behind, two next to the Stabsarzt, two by the door.  

New thing in the room: two tall chairs, covered with sheets.  “What’s this-- you redecorating?”

The Stabsarzt  is as unimpressed as ever, and doesn’t bother to respond.  “We found out about your conversations with Mr. Dinnerstein and Mr. Alkaev.”

Heart racing, panic, trying so hard not to react.  “What conversations?”

“You are not cooperating,” the Stabsarzt says.

Mouth tastes of metal, hard to breathe.  “What else do you want to know?”

“Not that kind of cooperation,” the Stabsarzt says.  “You’ve told us everything we asked.”  Heaviness, through the panic, bitterness, can’t meet his eyes.  “Besides, after this many months, none of your information is recent enough to be useful any longer.”

Sudden surge of energy and heat, glaring.  “Then why the hell--”  Stop, stopping, clapping the mouth shut, small sharp pain from bite-marks on lips.  

“To show you that you would break,” the Stabsarzt says matter-of-factly.  “To show you that anyone will break under torture, eventually.”  Looking down, at naked chest, legs and feet.  Noticing the dirt feet tracked on the carpet, fierce surge of defiant joy at that marring of the antiseptic white.  “You no longer trust yourself, and rightly so.  You still seem to trust Mr. Dinnerstein and Mr. Alkaev, though.”  

Quick words, stumbling through dry lips, rough and broken.  “What, them?  Nah, I don’t trust them.  They’re nothing to me.  Fuck them.”

“You are a bad actor,” the Stabsarzt says.  “Even if we didn’t have transcripts of your conversations, I would know you loved them by how frightened you sound.  Maybe you were better at lying last year.”  He picked up a sheaf of papers from his desk.  “Your plan would not let all three of you escape.  As you know.  Just as you know that the one or two of you left behind, if not killed immediately, would break and reveal the plan shortly.  And so your plan depended on speed-- that whichever of you succeeded in getting out would be able to travel swiftly enough in your stolen vehicle to get your message to the outside world.  You put tremendous faith in your people-- your Soviets, your Allies, your partisans-- to care what happened to you, and to be able to do something about it.  And you put tremendous faith in these two men, that you would sacrifice yourself to get even one of them out.”  

Quiet, keep quiet, don’t say anything.  Look down at the carpet, at the dirty tracks there.  Too many tracks.  Tracks leading from the door to here, yes, but also, tracks leading to the covered chairs, and the sheets on the chairs are moving, trembling.  One of the sheets has a dark stain on it, slowly spreading.  Speak without thinking, “What did you do…”

Hands grab from behind, a sudden gag tastes of filth and body odor and rough cloth.  The Stabsarzt nods to one of the guards, who pulls the stained sheet away.  A man sits there-- naked, bound, gagged, bleeding from the temple.  Shaved head, blinking in the sudden light, and-- maybe he’s no-one.  Maybe he’s just a random prisoner, a stranger, no-one worth thinking about.  “Mr. Dinnerstein,” the Stabsarzt says, “Mr. Barnes here was just saying that you don’t matter to him.”  

The gagged man glares at the Stabsarzt, then turns, his eyes wide and searching, welcoming and ironic and defiant and no, this is not a stranger, this is Chaim.  Struggle to come up with an answering look, a wink, something.  Struggle to not start crying.  Chaim nods, what does that mean?  

The guard pulls the sheet from the other figure, and he’s tall, bigger than he sounded, hair dark enough that there’s a shadow on his shaved skull and face.  Andrei’s face is still, so still, his eyes blank and downcast.  His dick is half-hard, his broad shoulders shaking, but his face isn’t showing the fear-- his face isn’t showing anything.  “Mr. Alkaev,” the Stabsarzt says, “see, now all three of you are here.  You’re done waiting now.”  Andrei doesn’t look up, doesn’t respond.  A muscle in his jaw jumps against the gag, jumps again, jumps again.  Chaim growls something through the gag, too muffled to even tell what language it’s in.  

“So here you are,” the Stabsarzt says.  “We’ve taught you many lessons.  It’s time for the most important one.”  He nods to a guard, who brings a sheet-covered table out and sets it in the center of the room.  The guard pulls off the sheet and reveals three guns.  Not just guns-- worn guns, a Nagant revolver, a Walther P38 pistol, and the so familiar Colt .45, solid and black, just as it had been, so many months ago.  The guard lifts the forty-five from its place closest on the table, takes off the safety, lays it down carefully.  And the pistol in front of Chaim, and the revolver in front of Andrei.  “You recognize these,” the Stabsarzt says.  “In a moment, we will unbind your hands.  And then something will happen.”

“You will take your weapons.  And in one scenario, one of you will be the fastest to shoot the other two.  The man who does that will be given food, and water.  He will sleep tonight in a real bed, in a darkened room, sleep until he is ready to get up.  Then we will continue his training, but we will feed him every day.

“In a second scenario, one of you will try to shoot me, or one of these soldiers.  In a third scenario, one of you will try to shoot himself.  In a fourth scenario, all three of you will refuse to use your weapons.  It doesn’t matter what you choose; all of those scenarios end the same way.  We take all three of you back to the interrogation room together, and we burn off… hm, let’s say your dicks, this time.  Leave you an inch to piss, but you won’t need any more than that for our purposes.  And since a dick is so much smaller than an arm, even if you do include the balls, which we will, we’ll take more care about it this time.  We’ll go slow, wake you if you pass out.  

“And then we will bring the three of you back to this room, again, and present your weapons, again.  And then one of you will be the fastest to shoot the other two, and that man will get food, water, rest, and also bandages and creams for his wound.”

Chaim growls a question.  The Stabsarzt considers him for a moment.  “You cannot imagine,” he says, “that one of the other three scenarios will happen again.  Not after your experiences over the past few months.  But very well-- if you use the weapons on anyone or anything other than your friends the second time, or refuse to use them, then we will burn off your left toes.  And the right toes after that.  And after that I’m sure we would think of something else you don’t need-- noses?  Ears?  Belly-buttons?  Buttocks?  I might need to consult with my prostheticians.  

“I hadn’t planned that far ahead, Mr. Dinnerstein.  Because I am confident that the first scenario will happen.”  He walks over to the table, touches the forty-five gently.  “Operation Duval,” he says in English, casually, absently, as if it hadn’t taken hours or days to choke that information past dry, aching lips.  Switches to Russian to speak to Andrei, switches back to German to speak to Chaim.  Memories of pain, of weariness, of just wanting to be  _ done,  _ anything, nothing matters any more, just anything to get it to stop.           

The Stabsarzt returns to his chair, and gestures three guards forward.  One stands behind Chaim, one behind Andrei, one is out of sight but close enough to smell back there, boot polish and sweat.  A gloved hand on the rope around him, the tinkle of keys.  

This would be a chance to die.  It would be easy to die, now.  Reach for the gun, point it at Chaim or Andrei, shoot and miss.  Die, be done.  Let one of them get the prize-- Chaim’s whispered stories about food can last hours, he‘d be glad to get a real meal.  If that promise is even true.  No reason it would be.  

But.  But Chaim is widening his eyes, frantically signaling for attention.  Shaking his head, jerking his chin toward the Stabsarzt.  As if he’s subtle, as if the Stabsarzt isn’t watching him do it.  As if he thinks there’d be any chance at all.  As if he thinks that the part about the  _ burning _ was the lie.  No.  No, Chaim, don’t.  A chance for an ending, maybe, but more of the burning, no.  Chaim, no.  No, no, don’t, not that, no.  

And Andrei is staring at the guns.  Not there to help argue Chaim into sense this time.  Barely there at all.  No way to know what he’ll do.  

The rope slipping loose around the ribs, a gloved hand firmly holding the whole arm still.  

_ “NOW!”  _ the Stabsarzt roars, slamming his hands against the wall, sudden shocking sound and movement.  The forty-five feels heavier than it used to, solid and metal and cold, and time slows.  Chaim is wheeling around, gun spinning, it’ll be pointing at the Stabsarzt’s face, and in the time of his turning, before Chaim's finger can tighten on the trigger, there’s the familiar sound of gunshot.  Chaim falls, and it’s harder to compensate for the kickback than usual, harder not to be pushed backwards by the gun’s firing.  And then Andrei’s face, and Andrei’s gun barrel round and dark as death, and there was something about this, about dying, but instinct kicks in.  Fire at Andrei, he doesn’t fall, fire again.  And again, and again, and again, and he doesn’t fall, again, again.  Keep trying to fire, even when the gun is just clicking, empty.

Stillness in the room again.  Smells return-- gunpowder, blood, shit.  Chaim’s staining the carpet, for once and for always, and there’s only one bullet hole in his head.  At the wrong angle to have come from here, at the wrong angle to have come from Andrei.  Andrei is still staring, eyes full of tears, breathing heavily through the gag, hand shaking on the gun which he still clings to, does not drop.  

“Blanks,” the Stabsarzt says, again in his calm, even, unchanging voice.  “If either of you could think straight, you’d realize that we’d never give you loaded guns.  But you didn’t realize that.  You thought you could kill.  And you killed him before he could shoot me.  You didn’t believe you could do it.  You didn’t believe that the three of you could take the seven of us.  You’re afraid of us.  

“And you’ve been afraid of us, you know.  Sergeant, лейтенант-- you’ve feared us for months now.  Why do you think your great escape plan didn’t involve anything more complicated than just getting someone out?  You don’t trust yourself to fight us.  You know that we’re stronger than you are, and you know better than to believe your will is enough to stand up against that strength.  You know better.

The Stabsarzt shoots Chaim’s body again, negligently, easily.  “You understand now, my Assets.  Anyone can be compelled to do anything, with time and pain.”

Steve couldn’t.  Steve wouldn’t.  

And it’s as if the Stabsarzt hears, as if he answers.  “Oh-- or they could die.  Like your Captain America did.  Like your Jew did, here,” and shoots Chaim’s body once more for good measure.  

It could be a lie.  They lie all the time.  It could be a lie, but Steve has almost died so many times.  So many times.  Why think that it wouldn’t happen, eventually?  Steve runs into a fight, and doesn’t think about his safety.  Steve gets hurt, and doesn’t try to avoid it.  

Even if it’s a lie now, it won’t be one for long.  

“So,” the Stabsarzt says.  “Since anyone can be compelled to do anything, you cannot trust any one man.  Can you?  You can’t.  Look what you’ve done.  Look what you did, when we gave you a choice.  You know better now, I hope, than to think that anyone you used to know could trust you now.”

Eyes hot and stinging.  Emptiness.  Just emptiness, and blood seeping into the carpet, and the Stabsarzt keeps talking.  “The nations you come from-- they want to believe that it’s not so.  That your revolutions, your  _ freedom,  _ your people rising up to demand rights, to demand equality, are anything other than a mob of frail, selfish men who will follow wherever they’re led with a strong enough hand.  You know, now.  You know that if we told you how to vote, that’s how you would vote.  You know that you will follow our orders.

“Because we are strong.  Because we are an organization, bigger than any individual man.  We are Hydra, my Assets.  No one head matters as much as the organization.  We are stronger than any individual, or any mob of people who think they’re free.  We are the strongest.”

Weariness.  Shakiness, hunger, exhaustion, and he’s still talking.  Too alert, too afraid and focused to ignore him.  Need to leave this room, need to sit down, need to do whatever it takes to get out of here.  Anything.  Anything.  Anything.  

“Am I right?” and the Stabsarzt just keeps talking, directly, a hand out.  “Come on, my Asset.  Give me your gun, and your allegiance.  We have laid a table for you, just through that door.  Join something bigger than yourself.  You know better now than to think that you can rule yourself, but we will rule you, and we will use you for good.  We can direct you.

“Give me the gun.”

Tired.  So tired.  And something else, something far away.  

The Asset hands the forty-five to the Stabsarzt, places it firmly in his hand.  Andrei makes a choked noise, but follows suit.    
  
“Good,” the Stabsarzt says.  “Very good.”  He leads the way into a room smelling warm and rich with food, and the body on the carpet does nothing.  Will never do anything again.  The door shuts, and the body on the carpet is lost from view. 

A few months later, the Stabsarzt lets the Winter Soldier beat Andrei Alkaev to death with his bare hands.  The Winter Soldier is grateful for the opportunity, but he can’t remember why.  

 


	17. Chapter 17

Jimmy had no words.  Not even sure what the sounds coming out of his mouth were-- sobs?  Screams?  The sounds were rougher than that, animal, wild, as uncoordinated as the way his limbs were striking out, his hands tearing at his flesh, at whatever came closest.  At Steve, who had fallen to his knees beside him, wrapped thin arms around him.  He howled, struggled, struck at him, and Steve grew in strength and size until he was strong enough to hold on, to tuck his chin over Jimmy's shoulder and hold him close.  Steve was crying, too, but not too hard to say,  _ "It's okay.  It's okay, it's okay, Jimmy, you're all right now, it's over."  _  Nonsense, ridiculous, not over, couldn't be over, not when this rush of something far too strong to be called  _ feelings _ was drowning him, wracking him with awful impossible intensity.  His mouth stretched around a sound, his throat rough and aching with it, his hands struggling in Steve's to rip into himself, to destroy, to make there be some physical change that might be even a tiny bit as strong as this flood.

_ Coward,  _ Bucky was spitting, swearing, standing over all of them and nearly bowled forward with the strength of his hatred.   _ Traitor.  Monster.  Thing.  Weak, you're so weak, lower than a worm, coward!  You fucking pansy, you girl, you weakling, you're nothing!  You traitor, you killed him, you killed them all, you murderer, you monster, you useless weak-minded faggot murderer!  Killer, puppet, tool, you coward, you nothing, fucking sheep, follow where they lead you like the useless mindless soulless thing you are!  Traitor, coward, Nazi, traitor, killer, Judas, weakling piece of shit!  DAMN you! _

_ "Hey,"  _ Stark said, lamely,  _ "stop it."   _

Bucky snarled at him.   _ Don't you dare deny it!  You saw!  You SAW!  You wanted to see, and now you have, and now you know, and the hell with you, Stark!  Get out of here, now! _

_ "Um,"  _ Stark said,  _ "no.  No, we're not going anywhere.  Because Phoenix says if we leave you alone with this, it's worse than if we hadn't done anything at all.  So, no." _

The Soldier considered the landscape, and the Winter Soldier, standing next to the Asset.   _ Him,  _ he told Bucky, pointing.   _ You don’t mean Jimmy. You mean him.   _

The figure next to the Asset nodded, a simple acknowledgement.

_ You're not the Soldier,  _ the Soldier said.   _ I'm the Soldier.  You can have the other half. _

_ What, Winter?  Eternal, kills everything that stands against it, always comes back?    _ Winter nodded.   _ That sounds right.   _

Winter vanished.  The Soldier chased after him.  __ Jimmy's noises went on and on, loud and tearing.  Steve was holding him tight, tight enough to hurt, but also tight enough to anchor him.   _ "It's not your fault,"  _ Steve said.   _ "I don't care, Jimmy, Bucky, it wasn't your fault.  It was them.  You never would have done that if they hadn't done that to you.  It wasn't you." _

_ Are you fucking blind?  _ Bucky spat.   _ Were you here just now?  They gave me a gun! I could have shot the enemy!  I could have fucking shot MYSELF, that would have been the decent thing to do!  Chaim did!  If I didn't have a choice, then what the fuck did he have? _

_ Death,  _ the Sergeant said, hollow.   _ I didn't want to die.   _

_ No,  _ Buck said, very, very quietly.  So quietly, fading out.  Disappeared.

_ I didn't want to die,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ Maybe we should have.  Maybe that would have been honorable.  But... I wanted to live.   _

_ Weak,  _ Bucky spat at him.   _ Coward.  Useless faggot.   _

_ "Okay, SERIOUSLY, would you stop with that?"  _ Stark snapped.   _ "There is no-one in this head who DOESN'T have reason to find the homophobia offensive.  Can we please have this inner debate WITHOUT the gay-bashing?  I promise, there's still plenty of names you can call yourself without that shit." _

Bucky stared at him, thrown off.   _ What are you talking about? _

Stark looked like he wasn’t sure either, but he rallied.   _ “Quit calling yourself faggot and queer and pansy.  I’m as much for reclamation of words as anyone else, but that’s not what you’re doing.” _

_ But it’s true,  _ Bucky told him.  

_ “It’s true that you like guys,”  _ Stark said.   _ “So what?  I also like guys.  Steve also also likes guys.  It’s a whole guy-liking party, though most of those I’ve been to have been more fun than this.  Could you quit acting like THAT’S the problem?” _

_ “Tony…”  _ Steve said.   _ “This is not the time.” _

Stark shrugged.   _ “I was gonna punch him if he did it one more time, so it kinda seemed like it was.”  _

_ “Not helping,”  _ Steve said.  In his arms, Jimmy kept shuddering, buffeted as much by his own howls and thrashing as he was by the emotions.   _ “Jimmy, shhhhh…”   _

_ NO!   _ Jimmy managed.   _ NO!  Chaim!  NO! _

_ Yes,  _ Bucky snarled at him.   _ He’s dead.  You killed him. _

_ “No, you didn’t,”  _ Steve said.  

_ “You didn’t,”  _ Stark agreed.   _ “Your bullets were blanks, did you forget that part?  I’m surprised, that was a big part of the over-the-top nastiness of the whole thing.”   _

_ You shot him,  _ Bucky said.   _ You shot at him.  You tried to kill him.  You meant to kill him.    _

Jimmy screamed, tried to sink his teeth into himself, met only Steve’s leather-clad arm.  Struggled, biting down, and Steve swore but didn’t let go, didn’t stop calling his name.   _ “Not your fault,”  _ Steve was panting,  _ “Bu-- Jimmy, it’s not your fault.”   _

_ STOP!  _ Jimmy screamed.  

Steve went silent for a moment, Jimmy stilling in his arms, panting, tears streaming down his face.   _ “Stop what?”  _ Steve asked after a moment.

Jimmy lost language again.  Kept screaming.

_ Stop,  _ the Sergeant said, ragged,  _ stop saying it’s not our fault.   _

_ “But it’s not--”  _ Steve started, and then cut off to grapple with Jimmy, who was screaming  _ at  _ him now, blows aimed at him, not just striking out.   _ “HYDRA tortured you!  For months!” _

_ Years,  _ the Sergeant said wearily.   _ So?   _

_ “So it was them!”  _ Steve said.

_ It was our hands,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ It was our weapons, and our bullets.   _

_ “You wouldn’t choose that,”  _ Steve said.

_ He did,  _ Bucky said.   _ You fucking idiot, Rogers, you already said it a hundred times, do you really think the hundred and first is gonna convince the kid? _

_ “It’s not your fault,”  _ Steve said, stubborn.  In his arms, Jimmy screamed and screamed, the sound echoing from the no-space around them, reverberating, strengthening, deafening.   _ “It’s not--”   _

_ “Is that the point?”  _ Tony said.  Steve frowned at him.  Tony waved a hand.   _ “Whose fault it is.  It’s done now, right?  It happened.  The dead won’t be less dead if the greater responsibility lies ultimately with HYDRA instead of here.”   _

Jimmy quieted, listening.  

_ “But--”  _ Steve said, and Jimmy tensed.   _ “But what you’re saying about you, Buck-- y.  That’s not right.”   _

_ I said a lot of things,  _ Bucky said.  

_ “You’re not a bad man,”  _ Steve said.   _ “I know you.  You wouldn’t choose evil if you had any other option.” _

_ You think you know me,  _ Bucky said.

_ I,  _ Jimmy whispered.

Steve adjusted his arms so he could look at Jimmy’s face, which Jimmy buried against his chest.   _ “You what?”  _ Steve murmured.

_ I don’t want to be a bad man,  _ Jimmy whispered.   _ I don’t want to be bad. _

_ “You’re not,”  _ Steve promised, instantly.

Jimmy trembled.   _ I did bad things. _

_ “Yeah,”  _ Tony said, quickly, and with a quick fierce glare to silence Steve.   _ “You sure did.  But that was then.  What do you want to do now?” _

_ I…  _ Jimmy said.   _ Be good.  I want to be good.   _

_ “You are good,”  _ Steve told him.  Jimmy shook his head, not lifting his face from Steve’s chest.

_ “Cap,”  _ Tony said,  _ “you know I’d follow you anywhere in the field, but seriously… who in this head personally invented and produced weapons that killed at least 35,000 people?”   _ He raised his hand, expression less flippant than his tone.   _ “And so who needs to shut up and listen to the experts?” _  He pointed his other hand at Steve.

Steve glared.   _ “For God’s sake, Tony, you’re not a bad person either!” _

_ “No?”  _ Tony said, slowly.   _ “No, maybe not.  Not now.  Now that I’ve saved the world.  Or at least, you know, New York.  Which is basically the same thing.”   _ Steve’s lip curled up very slightly.   _ “Now that I’ve given half the money I ever made making weapons to people who will make things better.  I’ll get to all of it, I just… lawyers, and the financial stability of Stark Industries and bla bla bla.”   _

_ “Tony,”  _ Steve said softly,  _ “you weren’t a bad person before that, either.” _

Tony shrugged.   _ “I did bad things,”  _ he said.   _ “Now I don’t.  Or at least… now I do fewer bad things.  And more good things.  Also, can we mix up the ideological complexity of the vocabulary, here?  I feel like a kindergartener.”   _

Steve jerked his head at Jimmy.  Jimmy turned his head to peek out at Tony.   _ But,  _ he said.   _ I don’t know how to stop.  I don’t know what to do.   _

_ “Do one thing at a time,”  _ Tony said.   _ “Each time you come to a decision-point, it’s a different chance to change.” _

Jimmy shook his head.   _ We meant,  _ the Sergeant said,  _ we don’t know how to keep Winter from breaking Steve’s fucking jaw.   _

_ “Oh,”  _ Stark said.   _ “Well, that is different, yes.”   _

Jimmy whimpered.   _ Steve _ ?   _ I'm sorry. _

_ "For hitting me?"  _

_ For everything,  _ Jimmy said.   _ For leaving.  For giving up.  I'm sorry. _

_ "It's okay,"  _ Steve said, too quickly, too easily.

_ "Cap..."  _ Tony said quietly.

Steve checked himself.   _ "I guess... that's not my call to make, is it?"  _ He pulled back so that Jimmy could see his face, the serious focus in his gaze.   _ "But I can tell you that I forgive you, Jimmy. And I love you.  Nothing that's happened to you, nothing you did can change that.  Nothing." _

_ I hurt you,  _ Jimmy said.

_ "You won't do it again,"  _ Tony said.   _ "You're not gonna get another chance.  We'll stop you." _

Jimmy blinked at him.   _ Are you sure? _

_ "Cross my heart,"  _ Tony said.   _ "Avengers promise." _

Slowly, slowly, Jimmy relaxed his shoulders, though he didn't lose his grip on Steve.   _ I'm sorry,  _ he said.

_ "I forgive you,"  _ Steve said.  And said it again and again, lulling Jimmy into quiet in his arms.  

_ I missed you,  _ Jimmy murmured.   _ Don't leave. _

_ "Not going anywhere,"  _ Steve said.   _ "Right here.  Til the end of the line, right?" _

_ Mm-hm,  _ Jimmy said, and lapsed into quiet.  It wasn't okay.  It wasn't over, and he didn't know what to do next or what it meant.  Still loudness in his head, fear and grief and anger, they weren't gone.  He missed Chaim and Andrei, now that he remembered who they were, that they had existed.  It wasn't over, and it wasn't better.

But... Steve was holding him.  Steve said he forgave him.  Steve said he loved him.  

So that was something.

Jimmy settled into Steve's arms with a long sigh, and stayed still, listening to his heart beat.  

 

***********************************************************************

 

_ “Is he asleep?”  _ Rogers asked, after a while.

The Sergeant shook his head.   _ Nah, he wouldn’t still be here if he were really asleep.  Just... quiet.  _

Rogers nodded, and turned to Bucky.   _ “So,”  _ he said.   _ “You were saying some bull?” _

Bucky flickered back into focus.   _ No, that was you. Or maybe Stark.  You two’re joined at the hip anyway, doesn’t make much difference.  _

Stark coughed.   _ “You were saying you should have done better,”  _ Rogers said.   _ “I don’t see how.” _

_ Don’t you?  _ Bucky said.   _ It seems pretty obvious to me.  Maybe not spilling my guts to HYDRA just because things got a little rough?  Or not turning against my fellow soldiers when they ordered me to? _

_ Or hey, here’s one.  Maybe I could have NOTICED when they let me go, out on missions.  And gone the hell home.  Instead of doing their dirty work, and then running right back to them with my tail wagging.  Maybe I could have fought them, when I knew that I could take any of them in a fight, any time.  Even if I couldn’t do much when they had me in a cell, I could have done a fuck of a lot when they had me running around in my own Jeep with my own rocket launcher.  _

_ “Could you?”  _ Rogers asked, in the annoying tone he got when he thought he was definitely right.   _ “It looked pretty hard when we were fighting for you to resist it.  It looked like you didn’t remember me at all.”   _ Jimmy shifted in his arms, and Rogers patted him like the baby he was.   _ “Were you even there for that, Bucky?  Or was that all the Winter Soldier, and Buck didn’t come out until he’d almost killed me?” _

Bucky shook his head, dismissing it.   _ Does it matter?  So I killed lots of people because I was nuts.  That seems better to you?  _

_ “You remember now, though?”  _ Stark asked.   _ “YOU remember going on missions?” _

The Sergeant frowned.   _ I told you this would mess us up.  _

_ “How?”  _  Rogers asked.   _ “What’s going on?” _

_ Just what it looks like,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ The memories aren’t where they belong.  They’re spilling around to people who can’t handle them.  _

_ “Can’t?”  _ Rogers asked, and turned his hopelessly earnest gaze on Bucky.   _ “What do you think, Bucky?  You remember going on missions for HYDRA—can you handle that?” _

_ I’m not a baby,  _ Bucky snapped.   _ Of course I can handle it.  _

_ “Okay,”  _ Stark said,  _ “but, macho self-image aside, is this actually causing problems?  Sergeant, your system—is it actually breaking?  Is this why you threw up when we brought out the memory?” _

_ Why I what?  _  the Sergeant asked, then put a hand over his eyes.   _ Oh, for God’s sake.  Don’t even tell me.  Is the body still working? _

_ “Oh, sure,”  _ Stark said.   _ “Definitely.  Probably.  They think.” _

_ “Tony...”  _ Rogers groaned quietly.

_ ‘They think?’,  _ the Sergeant snapped.   _ Don’t try to kid me.  I’m an enlisted man, not an idiot.  Things are getting worse.  _

Jimmy stirred in Rogers’ arms, whimpered,  _ I don’t wanna die!  _  Rogers made soothing noises at him.   __ __

_ Wake us up,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ Let us face this on our feet.  _

_ “Okay,”  _ Stark said, talking quickly, waving his arms, and the armor was gone, he was wearing the greasy A-shirt and Levi’s again.   _ “So that’s not an option, unfortunately, but that’s okay.  We’re here, right, we can fix this.  We just need to think creatively.” _

_ Fuck you, Stark,  _ the Sergeant said,  _ it wasn’t broken before you got here!  We were fine!  _

_ “You had just fucking well attempted suicide,”  _ Stark snapped,  _ “so no, no you were not.” _

Bucky laughed.   _ He’s got you there, Sarge.  _

_ You’re not helping,  _ the Sergeant said.

_ Maybe that’s because you can’t be helped,  _ Bucky said.   _ Are you kidding me?  ‘Fine’? Don’t make me laugh.  You can all kid yourselves all you want, but I’m like a rabid dog.  Who cares if it’s craziness or viciousness or a weakness in the breed—not much to do with you now but put you out of your damn misery.  _

Rogers’ voice shook.  “ _ Thought you were just mad at yourself for giving up too easy, Bucky.” _

_ I can still know what the decent thing to do is,  _ Bucky said,  _ even if I know I can’t do it. _

_ “Why not?”  _ Rogers asked, like the stupid, stubborn idiot he was.   _ “What’s stopping you?” _

_ Him!  _ Bucky snarled, pointing at Jimmy.   _ And him, and… where did Winter go?  All of them!  They’re all weak, stupid, evil, cry-baby, useless--  _

_ “Enough,”  _ Rogers said.   _ “For God’s sake, Bucky, why do you hate yourself this much?  You never used to.”   _

_ Used to?  _ Bucky snapped.  _ In the old days, you mean?  I should have.  Not like I didn’t know I was a pervert-- shut UP, Stark.   _

_ “But you didn’t hate yourself like this,”  _ Rogers said,  _ “did you?”  _  Bucky said nothing, and Rogers frowned.   _ “Did you?” _

_ I was kidding myself,  _ Bucky snapped.   _ I was naive enough to think that if I just kept it quiet, I could still be a decent man.  Should have known better.  Stupid kid.  I know better now.     _

_ “No,”  _ Rogers said.   _ “Bucky, it doesn’t have anything to do with that.  Being queer, and what HYDRA made you do-- they aren’t the same thing.  They aren’t even the same kind of thing.”   _

_ Weakness,  _ Bucky said.   _ Broken.  Flawed.  That’s why I broke for them.  Because I was cracked to start with.  All they had to do was hit me in the right place.   _

_ “I don’t believe that,”  _ Rogers droned.  

_ I don’t care,  _ Bucky snapped.  

_ For God’s sake, Captain,  _ the Sergeant said,  _ enough!  Leave him alone!  Let him have this!   _

Bucky and Rogers turned to the Sergeant with equal surprise.   _ What are you talking about?  _ Bucky snapped.   _ I can take care of myself.   _

_ “Let him have this?”  _ Rogers asked, confused.   _ “Let him have what?” _

The Sergeant looked from one to another, swore, looked away.   _ Never mind.   _

_  “No, wait,”  _ Stark said.   _ “Wait.  Sergeant-- you were just saying things are breaking down.  That we’re breaking them.  Is this conversation connected?” _

The Sergeant threw up his hands.   _ Stop asking, Stark!  Stop prying!  Stop fiddling with things!   _

_ “It’s kind of what I do,”  _ Stark said, apology too faint in his tone to be sure of.   _ “And no offense, Sarge, but-- I know what it looks like when you take something apart that’s not going back together the way it was before.  I don’t think this one goes back in the box.”   _ The Sergeant glared.   _ “So, apologies!  But… we gotta fix it, now that it’s broken.  And we can’t do that if you don’t tell us how it works.”   _

_ ‘It’?  _ the Sergeant asked.   _ Our fucking life.  ‘It.’   _

Stark took a deep breath.   _ “I am sorry,”  _ he said, quietly.   _ “Let me help?” _

_ There’s nothing to fix!  _ Bucky snapped, tired of being talked over.   _ There’s nothing here for you, Stark!  I don’t need your pity, I don’t need your meddling-- you can’t do anything about it!  This is US.  WE’RE the one who let it happen.  WE’RE the one who fucked up.  It’s no-one else’s fault but ours!  So FUCK OFF and leave us alone with it!   _

Stark stared at him eyes dark and wide.   _ “This,”  _ he said, softly.   _ “Let him keep this.  Oh.”   _

_ “What?”  _ Rogers asked.  

_ Don’t,  _ the Sergeant said.  

Bucky looked from one to the other, a tremor of uneasiness going through him.   _ What the hell are you talking about?  _

_ “Something my shrink said,”  _ Stark said vaguely.   _ “But that’s it.  The blame.  You get to keep the blame for what happened to you.  And then you don’t have to know that you couldn’t have stopped them if you’d tried.” _

Bucky shook his head.   _ What?  That doesn’t make any sense.   _

_ “No, see, it does,”  _ Stark said.   _ “Because then you don’t have to face the fact that you were REALLY helpless, if it’s all your fault--”   _

There was a rush of movement, too fast to track.  Bucky got a quick glimpse of the Sergeant’s face, grim and very close, and a  _ thwonk  _ next to his ear, and everything went black.  


	18. Chapter 18

Bucky’s unconscious body slumped to the floor, vanished before it could hit.  The Sergeant ignored it and grabbed Stark by the straps of his shirt.   _ Stop.  Fucking. MEDDLING!   _

_ “Whoa,”  _ Stark said, making no effort to get away, but his clothes were shifting back to the armor, helmet on.  He snapped the face-plate up and out of the way, held up his hands in surrender.   _ “Whoa, whoa, I’m sorry!  I was just thinking out loud--” _

_ In OUR HEAD,  _ the Sergeant growled.   _ Stop THINKING!   _

_ “Whoa, Bu-- Sergeant,”  _ the Captain called.  He made as if to get up, but Jimmy whimpered and nestled closer to him, and he subsided.   _ “He’s trying to help--” _

_ It’s not working!   _ the Sergeant snapped.   _ It’s as far from working as it could be!  It would have to get on a rocket ship to get any further!   _

Stark leaned back, not struggling with the Sergeant’s hands on his armor, but not looking nearly scared enough.  Sorry, but not scared.   _ “I didn’t understand,”  _ he said.   _ “I still don’t, to be quite honest.  Was I wrong, about Bucky?”  _

The Sergeant looked around, checked that Bucky was still asleep and elsewhere.   _ No, shut up!   _

_ “Just talking about it?”  _ Stark asked, like he was checking off boxes in his damn engineer head.   _ “That’s enough to hurt him?  Just… knowing what his job is?” _

The Sergeant shook him.   _ What the hell did I just say about THINKING, Stark? _

Stark planted the armor’s feet, and abruptly became unshakable.   _ “That it’s the only way out of this mess?”  _ he said.   _ “No, wait, that was me.  Being right.”   _

_ “Unless you’ve got another idea, Sergeant,”  _ the Captain said, but he said it with respect, ready to listen.  A memory surfaced-- not just the Sergeant’s usual store of memories as variables to keep track of and direct, but one of what might be his very own.  The Captain, making a plan, seeing clearly and brilliantly, but never hesitating to listen to the Commandos’ advice.  The Captain, leading.   _ “You know the territory here better than we do.  What happens when we think?” _

The Sergeant dropped Stark with one last glare and turned to the Captain, standing at ease, but ready.   _ Usually, not much, I suppose,  _ he said.   _ Here?  Well-- there’s a reason we’re split up.  It’s because we couldn’t all know everything and still be… ourself.  And HE was trying to tell Bucky things that Bucky can’t know and still be Bucky. _

_ “And then what?”  _ Stark asked, ignoring the tone.   _ “What would happen to him if he knew that you couldn’t have done any better?”   _

_ Nothing good,  _ the Sergeant said.  

_ “Yeah, got that,”  _ Stark said.   _ “Can you be more specific?”   _

The Sergeant hesitated.   _ “It’s all right if you can’t,”  _ the Captain said.   _ “Knowing the limits of what we know can be almost as useful.”   _

_ It’s just going so fast,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ I had time, before, to set things up.  I know it will hurt us, if I don’t split up the knowledge right.   _

_ “Do you know how you know?”  _ the Captain asked.  

The Sergeant shook his head.   _ It just… falls into place.  At first, I just knew it.  And then… _

The Captain waited.  Stark was less patient.   _ “And then what?”  _

_ Quiet,  _ the Sergeant ordered, distracted.  He sorted through the memories, found he had to go into the Asset’s to find it-- memories and roles and knowledge slotting neatly into place, and they had to, he had to be quick about it, to stop the arcing burning bright pain…   _ Ah, hell.   _

_ “Sergeant?”  _ the Captain asked, steady, urgent.

_ The ‘treatments,’  _ the Sergeant said.   _   Damn it to hell.  That’s what they were for.  And what I did.  When they gave us a ‘treatment,’ I was doing their dirty work for them.  Slotting and hiding everyone away.  I thought I had to, to keep us safe.   _

_ “Were you wrong?”  _ the Captain asked quietly.

_ I didn’t think I was working for them!  _ the Sergeant growled.   _ I thought I was doing it for us!  Protecting us.   _

_ “Sergeant,”  _ the Captain said,  _ “is it hurting you to know this?”  _

The Sergeant stopped, assessed.   _ No,  _ he said.   _ I don’t really feel much.  Maybe we don't all work that way, maybe I can know what I'm for and be fine.  Not sure what it’ll do to the rest of us, though.   _

They looked at Jimmy, who blinked up at them.   _ Steve loves me,  _ he said.   _ Steve’s got me.  It’s okay now.   _

_ Yeah, well,  _ the Sergeant said roughly,  _ you never were a real complicated guy.  Buck, now…  _  He looked around, not sure where Buck had ended up.  

_ “But,”  _ Stark said,  _ “so, the whole multiplicity-- it’s artificial?”  _

_ It wasn’t,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ Not when I started it.  But when they started giving me ‘treatments,’ it… it went differently.  I don’t know how, exactly.  But I’m not sure I remember, now, how to do it my own way, without them.   _

_ “So what’s collapsing,”  _ Stark said, back in grease-spotted street clothes, and pacing,  _ “is the HYDRA programming.  Whatever it was they laid over your natural splitting, they had to reinforce it.  Regularly, it sounds like-- how often did you get treatments?” _

The Sergeant looked for it.  ( _ EVERY TIME,  _ someone shrieked,  _ EVERY MISSION, EVERY TIME, BACK IN THE CHAIR, BACK IN THE CHAIR, EVERY TIME I CAME OUT, EVERY TIME).   _ The others clapped their hands over their ears to block the deafening sound.  

_ “Jesus christ,”  _ Stark panted.   _ “Who the hell was THAT?” _

The Sergeant shrugged.   _ One of the guys who doesn’t have a name.  Doesn’t come out enough to.   _

Stark nodded, pacing.   _ “Okay.  Are they different from the six-- or, seven, I guess-- of you who do?”   _ The Sergeant frowned at him, because was that not obvious?  Stark shook his head.   _ “Besides what you just said.  Are they… qualitatively different?”   _

The Sergeant thought about it.   _ They’re not people,  _ he said.   _ Not really, not the way we are.   _

_ “But…”  _ the Captain said, sounding less like a captain, more like a boy from Brooklyn.   _ “But you’re not really separate people, Sergeant.  You’re all parts of Bu-- of the same person.  Aren’t you?”  _

The Sergeant met his eyes.   _ No, Steve.  No, we aren’t.  We’re people.  Like Stark said-- you can’t put us back together and get the same person again.  Is that going to be a problem?   _

A pause.  Stark paused in his pacing just behind Steve’s shoulder, looked down at him, put a hand on his shoulder.  Steve blew out a breath.   _ “No,”  _ the Captain said.   _ “No, Sergeant.  If that’s how it is, then that’s how it is.”   _ Stark nodded, tightened his hold for a moment, then kept pacing.  

_ That’s something else Buck can flail about,  _ the Sergeant muttered, looking at the two of them, then stilled.   _ Where is Buck?   _

_ “Don’t you know?”  _ Stark asked.  

_ Been a little distracted,  _ the Sergeant grumbled.  

_ “Could he be unconscious?”  _ the Captain asked.   _ “Like Bucky?”  _

_ I put Bucky under on purpose,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ Easy enough way to keep him safe from you talking.  But what you did, with taking that memory out of the Asset-- that wasn’t just talking.  And Bucky and Jimmy and me-- we could handle that.  But Buck… _

Stark looked in perplexity at Jimmy.   _ “That was ‘handling’ it?” _

_ He’s still here, isn’t he?   _ the Sergeant said.   _ Yeah.  That was handling it.  I took the information, Jimmy took the feelings, Bucky found a way to make it make sense.  But Buck… I don’t know what Buck could do with it.  I don’t know what it’ll do to him.  And I don’t know where he is.   _

Stark and the Captain exchanged another of those looks-- knowing, strategizing, trusting.   _ “Well,”  _ the Captain said,  _ “then let’s go find him.”   _

 

***************************************************************************  

__ __

Something had just happened.  Buck was pretty sure of that, he was shaky on his feet, like coming down after a fight.  He wasn’t sure what.

He also wasn’t sure where he was.  And then he was, because you never forget that smell-- mud and blood, the wet stink hanging in the air.  This was a battlefield, in the quiet after the fighting ended. 

Well, almost quiet, and almost ended.  He couldn’t see a battlefield, couldn’t see bodies, but he saw two fighters.  The Soldier and Winter, hand-to-hand now.  The Soldier clearly had the advantage, metal arm flashing in the sunlight, moving brutally fast and efficient.  Winter wasn’t as good a fighter, but that didn’t matter, because he never stayed in one place.  Never where the Soldier hit, never still in his grasp, always slipping away.  And always mocking.   _ What will this prove?  _ he was asking, not even panting.   _ Of course you’re a good fighter, Soldier.  That’s what we made you to be. _

_ Shut up,  _ the Soldier panted, sweeping Winter’s legs out from under him at the same time as he threw a chunk of metal at a blown-off door, so that it rocked up to hit Winter from behind as he fell.  Winter took the impact, but it didn’t seem to affect him much-- he just bent sideways at an impossible angle, then sprang back to his feet, his HYDRA uniform not even wrinkled.  

_ You’re a wonderful tool,  _ Winter said.   _ You could at least have some pride in that.  I do.   _

_ Shut UP,  _ the Soldier said, pulling a gun and shooting.  It seemed more a gesture of frustration than anything else, because Winter took all the bullets, shook with the force of them, but there was no blood, no sign of any damage.   _ Dammit, what ARE you? _

_ Not one of us,  _ Buck said, and neither of them showed any sign of being surprised by his presence.   _ He’s not.  He’s from outside.   _

Winter sighed at him.   _ What do you even mean by that?  Do you know?   _

_ You’re the programming,  _ Buck said.   _ You’re the brainwashing. _ _ You’re not part of James Buchanan Barnes.  They made you.   _

Winter shrugged, unimpressed.   _ So?   _

_ So get out,  _ Buck said.   _ You’re not me.  You’re not any of me.   _

_ I’m the best part of you,  _ Winter said.   _ I’m the only one here who knows what I’m doing, and why.   _

_ Killing Steve?  _ Buck spat.   _ Are you crazy? _

_ I’m the only one who isn’t,  _ Winter said.   _ ‘Crazy’ means you’re doing things that don’t make any sense, doesn’t it?  That you’re doing things that make you not fit to be around people?  What I’m doing makes sense.  I have a role in the world.  You don’t.   _

_ I do, too!  _ Buck said.   _ I’ve got Steve’s back!  I protect him!  I protect… people.   _

_ From what?   _ Winter asked.   _ Other people?  Doesn’t that seem short-sighted to you?   _

_ Buck,  _ the Soldier said quietly.  He’d taken up a position on Winter’s other side, flanking him.   _ What are you trying to do?   _

Buck shook his head.  He didn’t know, he just knew that this had to stop.   _ You’re a killer,  _ he said.

_ So’s he,  _ Winter said, nodding to the Soldier.   _ One of the best in the world.  It’s the only real strength any of us have-- are you saying we should stop using it?  And do what?   _

_ I don’t know!  _ Buck shouted.   _ Stop making things worse!   _

_ Buck!   _ the Soldier said.   _ He’s baiting you.   _

_ Sure I am,  _ Winter said.   _ You barely survived seeing where I came from, Buck.  Why not show you more?  Do you know how much easier my job would be without you?  I can get the rest of them in line.  You’re the stubborn one.   _

_ Where you came from…?  _ Buck asked, uncertain.   _ What’re you talking about?   _

_ The thing that just happened,  _ Winter said.   _ The Stabsarzt.  The events we just saw play out a few moments ago.   _ He moved forward, closing on Buck.   _ You’ve forgotten?   _

The Soldier moved forward.   _ Buck, watch it!   _

Buck stepped back, not looking behind him, just watching Winter, who stared at him with dead eyes in a black-marked face.   _ Stop…  _

_ The camp,  _ Winter said.   _ The parlor.  The Stabsarzt gave you a choice: protect your comrades, or live.  Where were you, protector?   _

Buck shook his head.   _ What…?   _

_ Run,  _ the Soldier told him.   _ Get out of here, Buck!  I can distract him--  _ and he lunged at Winter, who side-stepped him neatly.  And then Winter was behind, an arm around Buck’s neck, twisting his wrist up into the small of his back.  Buck struggled, felt his wrist threaten to snap in Winter’s grasp.  Cold.  Winter was very cold to the touch.  

_ Fuck,  _ the Soldier said,  _ FUCK!  I’m getting help, don’t listen to him!   _ And then he was gone.  

_ Hey, Buck,  _ Winter said.   _ Remember Andrei Alkaev?   _

Buck nodded, hesitant.  Of course he remembered Andrei.  Steady and clear-headed, strong and reliable, with his stories of his clever sisters, and the girl he loved who could think rings around all of them put together.  Reminding him of those stories was the one thing Buck could rely on to cheer him up, when he was down.  Where had he known him from?  

_ We killed him,  _ the Soldier said.   _ You didn’t even try to stop us.   _

Buck struggled, tried to jerk free.   _ No.   _

_ We killed 358 people,  _ Winter said.   _ 63 women.  125 civilians.  Eight kids.  You know why we killed the kids?  Because there was no reason not to.   _

_ You’re not me,  _ Buck panted.   _ You’re not really me.   _

_ I am, though,  _ Winter said.   _ What do you think indoctrination is?  It’s not magic.  It’s not like the Stabsarzt or his successors could reach into my brain and put a machine in there to think for me.  He presented us with facts, and choices.  And we considered the facts, and made the choices.  I remember that.  I remember it clearly.   _

_ And so does everyone here, except you.  Because you won’t remember it.  Because you’re clinging to how you used to think, before we knew how the world really was.  You’re a relic, Buck.  You’re archaic.  And useless.  If we’re killing any of us to go on, it should be you.   _

_ No!   _ Buck snarled, struggling.   _ No!  Steve needs me.   _

_ He’s sleeping with Iron Man, you know,  _ Winter said.

Buck froze.   _ What?   _

_ He’s sleeping with Stark,  _ Winter said.   _ It’s pretty obvious, if you look at how they act around each other.     _

_ No he isn’t,  _ Buck said.

_ He’s not?  _ Winter asked, mocking.

_ He wouldn’t,  _ Buck said.   _ He wouldn’t kiss me if he already had a fella.   _

_ You think that,  _ Winter hissed in his ear.   _ You think that he’s so honorable.  You think that he lives up to some higher standard, some superhuman Captain America goodness.  You think that’s possible.  You’re an idiot.     _

Buck shook his head.  _ You’re just saying that to make me stop trying to protect him,  _ Buck said.  

_ Don’t kid yourself,  _ Winter said.   _ It’s true.  Look at how they fight together.  Look at how they look at each other.  You lived that, don’t tell me you don’t recognize it.  _

_ I…  _ Buck said.  Remembered what he’d seen: Stark having Steve’s back.  Protecting him, arguing with him, picking him up when he needed it.   

_ He’s in love with someone else,  _ Winter said, tightening his grip,  _ and he didn’t tell you.  He lied.  Like everyone lies, to get what they want.   _

_ No,  _ Buck panted, but-- the memories didn’t stop.  Steve’s kiss, Steve’s gratitude at seeing his face.  Stark’s fury at his betrayal, too fierce and somehow too personal to just be on Steve’s behalf.   _ It’s not that simple.  _

_ It’s just that simple,  _ Winter snapped.  

_ No,  _ Buck said, not about Steve and Stark.  And...   _ so what if he is?   _

_ Then you’re WRONG,  _ Winter snarled.

_...so?  _ Buck said.  _ So what?  I never said he was perfect.  It’s not simple.  So what?  You can’t stop me protecting him that way.  You can’t stop me like that.   _

_ He betrayed you,  _ Winter growled.  

_ Not enough to deserve being killed,  _ Buck said.  Winter’s hands on him were still tight, but… but they weren’t real, were they?  

_ WINTER!   _ That was the Sergeant’s command voice, and the Soldier was back, with all the rest of them.  

Steve saw the position they were in, started forward, checked himself.   _ “Buck!”  _ he called, urgent.   _ “Status?” _

_ Fine,  _ Buck called back, and it was more true than not.  

_ Let him go!  _ the Sergeant ordered.   _ Get your hands off him! _

_ Why?  _ Winter asked.  

_ “...did we misread the situation?”  _ Stark asked delicately.

Steve glared at him.          

_ No,  _ Buck told them.   _ No, you’re right.  He’s trying to kill me.   _

_ “He can’t,”  _ Stark told him, quick, intent.   _ “Remember?  None of you can be killed.  The most he can do is break you down into parts that go into the Asset for a while before you reform.” _

_ He can’t even do that,  _ the Sergeant said,  _ unless you want to go.   _

_ “Yeah!”  _ Stark said, sounding like he hadn’t known that, but liked it.  

Buck studied him-- his intensity, his genuine-sounding concern.   _ I’m not going anywhere,  _ he said, and Stark looked relieved.  Good.   _ It doesn’t matter what you say,  _ he told Winter.   _ It doesn’t matter what you think.  You can’t get rid of me.  I have a conscience, and I am not going ANYWHERE.   _ He twisted his arm, and he was right-- he could be as strong as he imagined himself being.  Freeing himself from Winter’s grasp was just a matter of willpower.  He stepped away, glared into Winter’s blank angry eyes.   _ You will never be rid of me.  Never.   _

_ I was,  _ Winter said.   _ I was for years.  Decades.  All of this century.  All I need to do is get back to base, and I will be again. _

_ Not without my help,  _ the Sergeant said.  

_ So?  _ Winter said.   _ You’ll help me.  You don’t want us to die.  So you’ll do as you’re told.   _

Steve stepped up to the Sergeant’s shoulder.   _ “Sergeant,”  _ Stark said,  _ “what’s Winter’s job?”  _

The Sergeant startled.  Jimmy flinched.   _ Oh,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ Oh, Stark, that’s clever.   _

Stark flashed him a quick grin.  “ _ It’s what I do.” _

_ But--  _ the Sergeant said, and looked at Buck, then flinched away.   _ Still not good.   _

_ “Why not?”  _ Stark asked.  Steve flashed him the same quelling look as the Sergeant did, but Buck was curious.  

_ Why not?  _ he asked.   

_ I know my job,  _ Winter said.   _ I keep us loyal.  That's plenty. _

_ *I* keep us loyal,  _ Buck said firmly.  

_ "...oh,"  _ Stark said quietly.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags. Tags, tags, tags. 
> 
> Tags.

The Sergeant glared at Stark, turned to Steve.   _Permission to shoot him, Captain?_

 _"Denied,"_ Steve said, not unsympathetically.   _"What now?"_

The Sergeant threw up his hands.   _What are you doing?_ Winter asked Stark.   _You thought that would hurt me.  Why?_ Stark looked back and forth between the two of them, thinking quickly.   

_"Could we send Buck away?"_  Steve asked.    _"Like you did with Bucky?"_

_I'm not going anywhere,_ Buck said, moving to stand between Winter and the rest.  It felt too odd to pull out a shield with Steve right here, his own shield firmly strapped to his back, but he could at least put his body in place.   _What's going on?_

 _"They're trying to protect you,"_ Stark told him.  

 _That sounds backwards,_ Buck said.  Stark smirked at him, friendly and amused. _Why?_

 _Because you're in danger,_ the Sergeant said.   _You, not anyone else._

 _Except me, you think,_ Winter said.   _You think it will hurt me to talk about what my job is.  And you want to hurt me._

 _Obviously,_ Buck muttered, but he turned to the others. _Y_ _ou think that's a way to stop him._ He shifted his weight, facing Winter more squarely.   _And it has something to do with me._

 _"Buck..."_ Steve said, a warning.

Steve never did know how to shut up and take help.   _We both said our job is to keep us loyal,_ he said.   _Him to HYDRA, me to...America?  The Commandos?  Steve?  Knowing right from wrong?_

 _Buck!_ the Sergeant snapped.   _Stop fucking trying to kill yourself!_

Buck shook his head, not breaking eye contact with Winter.   _So what's it mean if we both have the same job?_ he asked.   _Does it mean that only one of us can be here?_

 _I've been here for seventy years,_ Winter said.  

 _I was here first,_ Buck said, almost mocking.   _What's that got to do with the price of butter?  They want me, not you.  I'm not an enemy.  I'm not a monster._

 _I know what monsters are for,_ Winter hissed.   _I know why I killed those people.  I know why they had to die.  I know how to be proud of myself.  What are you going to do with all that without me?_

 _Stop,_ Buck said.   _I'm going to stop murdering people without you.  And be glad of it._

 _Good for you,_ Winter said.   _How are you going to live with the people you already killed?_

 _That wasn't me,_ Buck said.

 _It was if there's only one of us,_ Winter said.   _It was if you kill me._

They were circling now, hands up, ready to lunge at each other.   _Proud of yourself,_ Buck said.   _You've got no reason to be proud of yourself.  You've got the opposite.  You're nothing I'd ever care to claim._

 _Smart,_ Winter said.   _Rational.  Brave.  Able to sacrifice myself for something bigger.  Sensible.  Not blinded by how I want things to be._

 _Cold,_ Buck snapped, _ruthless, amoral, evil._

 _I do what has to be done,_ Winter said.  Glanced over Buck's shoulder.   _Tell me that's not what James Buchanan Barnes was like, Captain._

 _"Those things,"_ Steve said heavily.   _"Yeah.  But he knew how to love, too."_

 _You think I don't?_ Winter asked.   _Not individual people any more, no.  But still._

 _"Not the same thing,"_ Steve said.   _"I love my country, sure.  But it's made of people.  It always was.  Start to forget that, and... well, whatever it is you think you're loving, it's more your own imagination than anything else."_

Winter shook his head, dismissing them.   _What are you?_ he asked Buck.   _You're not so kind and benevolent, not with all that blood on your hands.  Not when you're the third-best killer in the world.  You've got nothing left._

 _I'm still me,_ Buck said.   _I'm still gonna stand up for my buddies.  I'm still gonna pull them out of whatever trouble they get themselves into.  Even if it's just pulling Bucky off of Jimmy, I'm not stopping.  That doesn't change._ He stopped circling, just stood up straight, feet steady underneath him.   _I'm the part of us who knows who we are,_ he said.   _I'm the part of us who knows what we're for.  I'm the part of us that has a reason to hold the head up high._

 _You were,_ Winter said, and shot him.  

Buck noticed the others yelling more than he noticed the bullets.  Looked down, saw blood, and understood what the Sergeant had meant-- he could let this matter, let himself collapse and disintegrate.  Or he could do what he did, which was to let the bullets pass through him, the blood fade and disappear.   _You can’t hurt me,_ he said, _not unless I let you.  I’m not letting you.  I’m not letting you hurt anyone again._

 _You’re wrong,_ Winter said, and dodged around Buck, running top speed.  Not faster than Buck, though, and Buck was chasing after him, right behind, almost close enough to lunge and grab him.  Winter dodged, put on a burst of speed at the Asset in front of them.  The Asset stood still, and Winter didn’t dodge around it or grab it, simply ran _into_ it.  Buck chased after, half-seeing the Asset blink at him in dull confusion before he was past, inside it, and… somewhere else.

He didn’t recognize this place.  It was cold here, even indoors-- the ceiling was high above, but it was concrete, not sky.  It smelled like sweat and sawdust, looked grey and dim and uncared-for.  

It took a moment to recognize the figure in the center of the room as himself.  The face was gaunt and bearded, the hair long and matted.  The clothes were black fatigues, HYDRA insignia on the breast but no markings of rank or identity.  The left arm hung awkwardly, glinting metal, moving disconnectedly.  The eyes were darting around the room, the shoulders hunched, the breath quick and uneven.  

“Well, here you are,” said someone-- a Leutnant, and Buck felt-- not a memory, but a familiarity with his past-self’s surprise at hearing English spoken aloud, for the first time in such a long time.  He wasn’t talking to them, though, he was talking to… the prisoners.  Six men, military-looking, battered and leaning on each other, uniforms filthy and torn.  “You made your choice.”  He gestured to the figure that Buck supposed he had to accept as himself, for all that he looked like a trapped rat.  “There he is.  Who’s first?”

One of the prisoners stepped up.  “That him?” he said, brash and bragging.  “He doesn’t look so tough.  We’ll be out of here by lunchtime.”  He held his hands out, and a guard unlocked the handcuffs around his wrists and handed him a knife.  The prisoner took the knife, adjusted it in his hand, and walked into the center of the room-- a ring, Buck realized, with his past-self standing in the middle of it, alone and weaponless.  

 _Look,_ Winter said.   _Those are GIs, you know.  Americans.  See how easily they turn?  They didn’t know who you were; they didn’t care to know.  They just knew they could get what they wanted if they killed you.  And they wanted to live.  They didn’t care that you were unarmed, or about a fair fight._

 _Fair?_ Buck said.   _Look at them-- they’re prisoners!  What’s fair about this?_

Winter smiled.   _Nothing,_ he said.   _How’s that different from anything else?_

In the ring, the prisoner was feinting and slashing with the knife, the other prisoners cheering him on.  Buck’s past self watched him, turning to keep him in sight, breathing fast.   _He’s scared,_ Buck realized.

 _There’s a guy coming at you with a knife,_ Winter said.  

Buck shook his head.   _Why doesn’t he try to get away?  Or talk to them?  They’re Americans!  They could help each other!_

 _How?_ Winter asked.  

In the ring, the prisoner charged.  Their past-self made some kind of noise-- a yelp?  A swear?-- and grappled with him.  There was a flurry of limbs and ripping cloth, blows and grunts.  Then the metal arm was closing around the prisoner’s throat, clenching shut.  The prisoner choked, and the metal hand kept closing-- _he doesn’t know how to stop it,_ Buck realized, _he doesn’t have enough control to keep it from closing all the way into a fist._ The prisoner’s body jerked, was still.  Their past-self struggled with the hand, trying to disengage it enough to drop him.  The prisoners’ shouts changed from encouragement to rage.  

 _You think that was good?_ Buck spat at Winter.   _You think HYDRA were right to do that to them?_

 _You had to learn,_ Winter said.   _What people are like.  What you’re like.  You had to learn it._

This time, the guards were letting two prisoners into the ring.  They came at the past-self, one on each side, fighting smart and coordinated.  The past-self had to work harder, got cut by one knife before he managed to get hold of one of the men and throw him into the other.   _Stop it,_ Buck said, shouted, running into the ring.  He grabbed an arm, pulled hard, trying to separate the fighters.

 _Who are you trying to help?_ Winter called.  

 _Everyone!_ Buck shouted.   _This is insane!  These men aren’t the enemy, why would I fight them?  If I just explain…_

His past self looked up at him, stared in confusion.   _Stop!_ Buck shouted.   _You’re all Americans, dammit-- act like it!  Don’t fall for this Nazi bullshit!  You’re better than that!_

The prisoners paused, also staring at him.   _Come on!_ Buck said, _you’ve got weapons-- there’s the enemy!  Let’s GO!_

Nobody moved.   _They’re not real,_ Winter said.   _Don’t you get that?  They’re memories.  This isn’t really happening.  You can’t change what happened, because you didn’t.  Because you weren’t there._ He came closer, just behind Buck’s shoulder, not lowering his voice to speak into Buck’s ear.   _YOU weren’t THERE._

Buck startled at the volume, and the memory started again without him, the prisoners circling his past self, grappling, trying to pin him.  His past self fought, desperate and deadly, and the prisoners’ ferocity rose with his.   _You weren’t there,_ Winter said again, as the prisoners pinned the past self to the ground, one of them stabbing him in the gut, hard.  The other prisoners cheered, the guards did nothing, the past self bled and whimpered and choked.  

 _But we must have lived…?_ Buck said, watching himself bleed out on the rough concrete floor under the scattering of saw-dust.  

 _Serum,_ Winter said.   _We can heal from a lot._   The past self looked up, to the guards, the words ‘ _hilf mir_ ’ forming on his lips, but not spoken.  

 _Why aren’t they doing anything?_ Buck asked.   _We were-- he was their Asset, right?  They made him that arm, they must have put a lot of work into it, didn’t they want to keep him?_

 _Not if I died that easily,_ Winter said.   _It’s just two men, I should be able to handle that.  If not-- well, they could always take the arm off and put it on someone else._ He was standing at attention to watch their past self, body stiff and unyielding.   _I had to prove that I was useful._

The past self kicked out-- Buck wasn’t sure whether it was deliberate or not, but the prisoner wasn’t expecting it, and the past self got him in the back of the knee.  He fell, and the past self was rising, against all odds, straining to pull himself off the ground and fall on the fallen prisoner, smashing the metal arm overhand against him, using it as a clumsy club to beat him.  His movements got more fluid as he went on, but he still wasn’t even making a fist-- just battering at the prisoner’s face with the open metal hand, the fingers catching on his features, leaving them an indistinct bloody gash.  The other prisoner stabbed him in the back, and the past self bellowed, spun around, swinging the arm and connecting with the other prisoner’s head, snapping his neck.  

The past self sank to his knees, hands pressing on his stab wounds, face screwing up in pain.  Tears made their way through the grime on his face, but he wasn’t making a sound besides his rough, staggering breathing.  

“Hm,” the Leutnant said.  “That’s disappointing.  All right, back to one of you at a time.  Who’s next?”

The three remaining prisoners shuffled, pale.  “He-- he’s weak, now,” one of them said.  “You could take him, Al.  Get him back for Jack.”  

 _Stop it,_ Buck said.   _God, stop it._

 _They didn’t hear you,_ Winter said.  

The prisoner nodded stiffly, his face grim and hollow.  The past self picked up one of the fallen bloody knives in his right hand, formed a fist with his left.  He met the prisoner’s charge, but the tears didn’t stop flowing.  

 _Watch,_ Winter insisted, sharp and bitter, as the prisoner fought and fell.   _Watch,_ as another came to take his place, _don’t you look away from this.  Don’t you pretend this didn’t happen.  I’m so sick of you, pretending that this wasn’t real.  Pretending that this isn’t how the world is.  So self-righteous, so ready to judge me.  So blind.  You weren’t here, you didn’t see, you hid.  You hid, and you pretended this didn’t happen, and you act like YOU have the moral high ground?_

 _Oh, God,_ Buck said, watching his past self stumble, almost fall onto the prisoner’s body.   _Oh, my God._

 _Also not here,_ Winter said.  

The prisoner waiting on the sidelines watched the last of his fellows fall, face bone-white, licking his lips over and over.  “I--” he said.  “I’ll talk.  I’ll tell you.  Whatever you want to know.  Please.  Please…”

The Leutnant shrugged.  “Fine,” he said.  “Come on.”  He signalled a guard.  “Get the Unterarzt for the Asset.  But you can take your time about it.  Give him some time to think about his mistakes.”  The guard saluted, and they walked out, boots ringing on the concrete, prisoner stumbling away.  A heavy door slammed behind them.

 _Christ,_ Buck said.  The past self swayed where he stood, in a ring full of bodies.  He stared around him blankly, watching the bodies for signs of movement, signs of threat.  The knife fell from his hand.  He tried to open the metal fist, couldn’t get it unstuck.  Tried again, tried prying at it with his right hand, and it was this that finally got him to sob aloud.  He fell to his knees, fell flat to the ground curled up around his hand, struggling with it, cursing and panting.  

 _Hey,_ Buck said, and he was in motion, into the middle of the ring again, stepping over bodies, falling to his knees next to his past self.  The past self was still wrestling with the hand, trying again and again, tearing the nails on his right hand as he tried to get the left to open.   _Hey, buddy, c’mere._ He wrapped his arms around his shuddering past self.   _It’s okay, it’s over, it’s okay now, shhh…_

 _Shut up,_ the past self said, and it was Winter now, Winter shaking in his arms, clawing at the stubborn metal prosthetic.   _You weren’t here.  You don’t get to come in and be the big savior.  You didn’t see.  You weren’t here.  You weren’t HERE._

Buck looked at the fallen bodies of the GIs around them, bloody and smashed and torn, faces still and empty.  He looked at Winter in his arms, trying to make his hand work, trying to be useful.  Trying to survive.   _I’m sorry,_ he said.   _You were all alone._

 _I’m always alone,_ Winter said.   _Everyone’s always alone.  That’s how it is._ He stilled, and said, one more time.   _You weren’t here._

Buck took a deep breath, and pulled Winter close, as close as he would pull Jimmy, as close as he would pull Steve.  Intertwined his hands with Winter’s, his own metal hand gently engaging with Winter’s, helping it to move.   _I know,_ he said.   _I’m sorry._

 _I’m here now._          


	20. Chapter 20

The walls shifted, faded, taking with them the ring and the bodies.   _ Buck!  _ the Sergeant shouted as he appeared to replace them.   _ Status! _

_ Fine,  _ Buck said, and  _ shhhhh.   _

Winter tensed in his arms, but didn’t pull away, quite yet.   _ You haven’t won,  _ he said, but so quietly Buck wasn’t sure anyone else would hear it.   _ This doesn’t mean you’re right.   _

_ No,  _ Buck said, aloud,   _ I’m pretty sure it means I was wrong.  About some things, anyway.   _ Winter shifted his weight, but still didn’t pull away, just watched the others come.  

_ “Buck?”  _ Steve said, uncertain.   _ “What happened?”  _

Winter leapt to his feet and charged him.  

_ Don’t hurt him!  _ Buck shouted.   _ Steve, hold him off, but-- _

_ “Got it!”  _ Steve shouted, and raised the shield to meet Winter’s metal fist.  Winter rebounded, flipped over.  With a  _ whirr  _ of glowing foot-rockets, Iron Man was in the air, diving low to grab for Winter’s legs.  Winter jumped over him, but the instant he came back down, the Soldier was there to sweep his feet out from under him and knock him to the ground.

_ What the hell are you thinking?  _ the Soldier asked.   _ Do you see this tactical position?  Outnumbered by superhumans, and that’s not to mention the fact that this is all metaphorical projections inside our head!  You can’t hurt Rogers.  What are you doing? _

_ My duty,  _ Winter panted, struggling.  The ground collapsed under them and he broke away in the fall, even as the Soldier flipped and somersaulted to attack him again.  And then he was up, and charging at Steve again.

_ What they made you for,  _ Buck said.   _ What you know how to do.   _

Steve kept the shield up, thwacked Winter in the face with it.  Winter staggered, and Buck wondered about that-- had Winter forgotten how to change himself, like when they fought before?  Why?  How?  

_ You can’t beat HYDRA,  _ Winter panted.   _ We keep coming back.  Cut off one head, and two more rise to strike you.  You can’t stop us.   _ He pulled a knife with the metal arm, but again, Iron Man’s metal arms were as strong as his, held him back.  

_ “We really can,”  _ Stark said, voice altered and cocky the way it got when he was in the suit.   _ “Turns out super-secret organizations don’t do too well in open conflicts.  Who’d have thought?”   _

Winter hissed and struggled to free the arm.  Pulled a mini-EMP generator from a belt pouch and slammed it against the suit, trying to short out Iron Man’s armor.  The Soldier knocked it free the second it landed, threw it out of sight. 

_ You don’t fight for HYDRA,  _ Buck said.   _ You fight for the winners.  You fight for whoever’s strongest.   _

_ HYDRA are the strongest,  _ Winter said, kicking out at Steve with one leg and the Soldier with the other.   _ They beat me.   _

_ You wish,  _ came a mocking voice.  Buck turned to see Bucky watching the fight, arms crossed, not even bothering to get involved.   _ They’re not that strong.  You’re just weak.   _

_ You’re back,  _ Buck murmured.  Bucky shrugged.  Next to Bucky, the Asset was watching the fight, a flicker of interest in its blank eyes.  Jimmy was clinging to the Sergeant’s arm, uncertain, but hopeful, pumping his fist in a cheer whenever the Soldier, Steve, or Stark got in a good block or throw.  But it was the Sergeant who drew Buck’s attention.  The Sergeant, standing in the middle of them all, watching the fight as if he didn’t know who he wanted to win, but couldn’t look away.  

_ They didn’t,  _ Buck said.

Winter spun, darted away to try for an opening to Steve’s right.  The Soldier was there, though, as natural as breathing, blocked him and threw him back.   _ What?  _

_ HYDRA didn’t beat you,  _ Buck said.   _ If they had, we wouldn’t be here.   _

_ Nice try,  _ Winter panted, spinning to come in for another attack,  _ but the multiplicity is HYDRA’s, too.  What do you think the treatments were for?   _

_ The treatments,  _ Buck said, to the Sergeant,  _ were HYDRA trying to get control back.  Trying to subvert you fighting them.  But it was never theirs.  WE were never theirs.   _

The Sergeant studied him, then nodded, slowly.   _ I kept us safe,  _ he said.   _ I kept us hidden.  You don’t hide something unless you think you’ll get a chance to use it again.   _

_ Yeah,  _ Buck said.   _ You knew they couldn’t keep us forever. _

_ They couldn’t,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ We might die.  But if I could keep us alive-- we could go home.  Eventually.  If I could just keep you all safe, long enough-- we could get home.  I knew we could.   _

_ We’re not home,  _ Winter gasped, dodging a metal fist and blocking the shield.   _ Home is gone.  It’s been gone for decades. _

_ “Home is here,”  _ Steve said, swinging the shield again, but his words were clear.   _ “If you want it.”   _

_ Yes!  _ Jimmy called.   _ We want it!   _

_ Weak,  _ Winter panted.   _ Vulnerable.  I could take Stark Tower fifteen different ways with my hands tied behind my back. _

_ You mean *I* could,  _ the Soldier said.  

_ “I don’t think FIFTEEN,”  _ Stark muttered.  

_ Want me to show you?  _ the Soldier asked.

Iron Man bounced a repulsor blast off Steve’s shield to ricochet and hit Winter in the face, knocking him back.   _ “Yeah,”  _ Stark said.   _ “Show me later, so I can fix it.”   _

_ “Make us stronger,”  _ Steve said.   _ “We’ll be stronger if you join us.”   _

Winter staggered to his feet, moving stiffly.   _ Not strong enough.  _

_ Stronger than you!  _ Jimmy shouted, and then he was running across the room to tackle Winter.  Not a good tackle, not strategic, he just flung his arms around Winter, all determination and no technique at all.  Winter barely shook.   _ I hate HYDRA!  I’m never going back to them!   _ Winter backhanded him with the metal arm, but it didn’t knock him loose.  Jimmy clung, chanting, fierce and elated.   _ Never ever ever ever ever EVER!  Never again!   _

_ Brat,  _ Winter snapped,  _ idiot, you think you have a choice?  They’ll find us.  They’ll get us back.  And I’m not letting YOU give them a reason to punish us.   _

_ “They’re not getting you back,”  _ Steve said.  

_ You think you can stop them?  _ Winter asked, pounding at Jimmy’s head.  Jimmy clung on, firm and stubborn, face screwed up in a scowl.  

_ Yeah,  _ Buck said.   _ Steve.  Show him.   _

The Sergeant studied him.   _ You’ve got a plan. _

_ I’ve got an idea,  _ Buck said.   _ Winter, I don’t think you love HYDRA.  I think you think no-one can stop them.   _

_ No one CAN stop us,  _ Winter snapped, and drew a gun, pointing it at Jimmy’s head.

Steve was there in a second, grabbing the right hand and the gun in it, pointing it firmly away.  Winter struggled with him, and Jimmy let out a whoop of delight as he finally managed to use his scant leverage to knock Winter off-balance.  

_ We can,  _ Buck said.   _ We’re stronger.   _ Iron Man followed Steve’s lead, grabbing the metal arm with both of his own, pushing back.  

Winter twisted in their grasp, kicked out, and the Soldier grabbed Winter’s flying right leg and held it fast.   _ Come on,  _ he ordered, and Buck hurried over and grabbed for Winter’s left leg.  Got kicked in the chest, and flung backwards to the floor.  Winter fought silently, using that one free foot on all three of his opponents, landing a kick to Steve’s knee that made him stagger, but not lose his grip.  

_ Come ON,  _ the Sergeant ordered, and took hold of Winter’s flying left leg.  Winter kicked, hard, but the Sergeant swore and held fast.  Held fast, and did not let go.

_ To hell with you,  _ Winter snapped,  _ this doesn’t mean anything, this doesn’t prove anything, you can’t win, you--   _ He stilled his motion, and then the air seemed to shimmer around him, his limbs going misty in the others’ grips.   _ It’s all in my head, you can’t stop me.   _

_ My head, too,  _ Buck said, and concentrated on Winter’s limbs-- their solidity, their tangible presence.   

The Sergeant noticed, and rallied them.   _ Oh, no-- you’re not changing the laws of physics here, not without my say-so!  _ _ Come on, guys-- focus!  Don’t let him slip off!   _

Jimmy grinned, and clung tight, and the misty shadows around Winter solidified-- ropes, chains, looking much more like a cartoon of someone tied-up than the reality.  But the ropes held fast, tightened against Winter when he tried to slip them, doused themselves with a sudden raincloud when he tried to ignite them.   _ Gotcha!  _ Jimmy crowed.   _ Got you!   _

Winter stilled, suddenly, slumped against the ropes.   _ Yeah,  _ he said, lowly, grim.   _ Yeah, you got me.  So what?  I’m just one agent.  It doesn’t prove anything. _

_ No, it does,  _ Buck said.  He went to where Winter lay on the ground, the others still keeping close hold on his limbs where they stuck out of the ropes, Jimmy sitting on his chest.   _ It’s not that you could be beaten in this fight, Winter.  It’s that you could be beaten in this fight by YOU.   _

_ By us,  _ the Sergeant clarified.   _ We’re all James Buchanan Barnes.  And we’ve been fighting all along.  There’s enough of us left to win this fight.   _

Winter snarled.   _ Too late.  Who cares what happens now?  I’ve already killed 358 people.  You couldn’t stop me from doing that.   _

_ No,  _ Buck said,  _ we couldn’t.  Not before we knew who we were, and what we were doing here.  Not before other people outside our head knew what was going on with us.   _ He looked to Steve, who met his eyes and nodded, a promise.  

_ We held out until reinforcements got here,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ Now they’re here.   _

_ You were wrong,  _ Jimmy said.   _ You thought that HYDRA were strongest, but they weren’t.  We were.  WE were!   _

_ We are,  _ Buck said.  

Winter shuddered.  Not writhing, not trying to get away, just a deep shaking.   _ Good for you,  _ he snapped.   _ You won.  You can be rid of me.   _

_ No,  _ Buck said.

Stark turned to him.   _ “No?”   _

_ No,  _ Buck said again.   _ We’re not getting rid of you, Winter.  You’re one of us.  Part of us.   _

_ “Yes, but,”  _ Stark said,  _ “the homicidal brainwashed part?”   _

Buck shook his head.   _ The strong part,  _ he said.   _ The part that sees what works, and does it.  The part that knows how to be the worst son-of-a-bitch in the room.   _ He knelt by Winter’s head, didn’t mock him by touching him, but got close enough to see his face, to let Winter see his.   _ You did terrible things,  _ he said,  _ for terrible people.  And we-- James Buchanan Barnes-- can’t ever forget how terrible people can be, and what they can accomplish by doing it.  Even if we never do those things again, you know how they’re done.  You know what that looks like.  You’ll know if someone’s trying to do that to us again.  We need you. _

_ Stay with us.  We’re here with you. _

Winter looked up at him.   _ You’ve changed your tune,  _ he said.

_ I changed my mind,  _ Buck said.   _ Can you change yours?     _

_ No,  _ Winter said, _ I can’t.   _

_ Why not?  _ Buck asked.

Winter growled.  _  Because I CAN’T.   _

Jimmy cocked his head.   _ Do you want to?   _

_ What kind of question is that?   _ Winter spat.   _ What idiot wants what he can’t have?   _

_ “You asked me that a lot, in the old days,”  _ Steve said.   _ “Not you exactly, I guess, but… it was a good question.  But now here we are.”   _

Winter glared at him, a killing glare, but with no effect-- Steve kept his hold on him, stubborn as ever.   _ Do you want to?  _ Buck repeated Jimmy’s question.   _ Do you want to change your mind?   _

_ I can’t,  _ Winter said, and twisted in their grip again.   _ Even if I wanted to, I can’t.  I can’t not be what they made me.  I can’t not know what they taught me.  I can’t forget how to do what they taught me to do.  I can’t, and you’ve got no business asking me, because I CAN’T!   _

_ “That’s not really an answer,”  _ Stark pointed out.  

_ Fuck you,  _ Winter said, and then there was wind whipping around them, an icy arctic blow sending stinging snow into their eyes, fingers freezing on metal.   _ I can’t be changed.  I can’t be stopped.  You can kill me, or you can wait until I kill you.  That’s it.  So pick one!   _ His eyes went to the holster at Buck’s waist.   _ Come on!   _

_ Oh, for God’s sake,  _ the Sergeant said.   _ Winter, you KNOW that’s not how this works.  We ‘kill’ you, you’ll just be back later.  We’re stuck with you, and you’re stuck with us.  So we’ll ask again.  Do you want to change? _

_ Stop asking what I want!  _ Winter snapped.   _ No-one cares what I want!  It doesn’t matter!  It never has mattered, and it never will, so stop asking! _

_ You mean you’re scared to try,  _ Bucky drawled.  He roused himself from his slouch against a wall and came over to stand over Winter and the rest of them, feet planted firm.  Tapped some ash from his cigarette, blew smoke down towards Winter’s face.   _ What, you think you’re too weak?  Or just too dumb?   _

Winter glared up at him.   _ You think I’ve got shame to play on?  _ he asked.   _ I don’t.  I’m me.  I’m what I was made to be.  There’s no shame in that. _

_ But do you want to change?  _ Buck asked, one more time.

Winter met his eyes for a long moment.  Buck stared down at him-- his own face, his own features, but not his own eyes.  These eyes were different from the ones he saw in the mirror.  So cold, empty and impersonal as a gun barrel.  He didn’t look away, though, didn’t break under that hard, sharp glare.   _ Do you want to?  _ he asked.

The Asset moved.  It didn’t speak, didn’t make any sign it was going to move.  Just walked forward, footsteps steady and shuffling at the same time, as inanimate as moving feet could be.  It knelt gracelessly by Winter’s head, joining the rest of the circle around him.  Its face was expressionless, not even the usual hint of confusion in its eyes.  It put its right hand on Winter’s face.

Winter closed his eyes, and started to disappear.  

_ “Wait!”  _ Steve shouted, his hand tight around Winter’s.   _ “Bu-- Winter!  No, stop it!”   _  He adjusted his grip, clinging with super-strength, not letting go.

Winter opened his eyes and looked up at Steve.   _ You win,  _ he said.   _ Congratulations.   _

_ “WINTER!”  _ Steve was shouting, clinging, even as Winter’s limbs melted into mist.  The mist swirled into the Asset’s flesh hand, flowed, and faded.  They were left crouched in a circle around an empty space, a pile of tangled ropes and chains.  

Steve sobbed.  “ _ Dammit.”   _ Buck put a hand to his shoulder automatically, was only surprised for a moment that Stark had done the same thing from the other side.  Steve shook his head sharply, blinking a few times and looking up clear-eyed.  _ “Sergeant-- what happened to him?” _

The Sergeant focused inwards.   _ He’s done,  _ he said.  

_ But!  _ Buck said.   _ But he didn’t have to!  He’s part of us!  That was-- that was the whole point! _

_ He was done,  _ the Asset said, its voice quiet and wondering.   _ He had to be wiped, and prepped again.   _

_ “What?”  _ Stark asked.

The Asset didn’t answer.  It put out its metal hand, sighed a long breath, and watched the mist start to rise from its palm.  The mist swirled, rose, took the form of a man.  Grew darker and deeper.  

_ Winter?  _ Buck asked.

Jimmy shook his head, staring.   _ He doesn’t feel the same.  But… similar.   _

The mist cohered, solidified.  The figure standing in the middle of their circle was clearly a part, clearly came from James Buchanan Barnes.  He had Winter’s upright posture, his cold eyes.  But his eyes looked out of a domino mask, his clothes were as much skin-tight black cloth as leather armor.  It looked, Buck thought, like someone had made the Winter Soldier’s outfit into a superhero costume.  

The new part took a deep breath, stretched out his hands in front of him, inventoried the many, many weapons stowed on his body.  He smiled, and the smile was not kind, but it also didn’t look fake the way that Winter’s always had.  He used to smile as a threat, as a mockery.  This smile just looked self-contained, certain.  Ready.   _ That’s better,  _ he said.

_ “So... wait,”  _ Stark said,  _ “does this mean we should call you Spring now?”   _

Winter glared at him.   _ Not if you want to keep all your limbs.   _

_ “I’m confused?”  _ Steve admitted.

Winter shrugged.   _ I was wrong about how the world works.  Who’s strongest.  Fixed it.   _

Jimmy peered at him suspiciously.   _ Are you still evil?   _

_ Yes,  _ Winter said.

Jimmy nodded.   _ But you’re not going to keep trying to kill Steve?   _

_ No,  _ Winter said.   _ Superhumans are stronger than humans.  Especially superhumans with the backing of money and government agencies.  It would be pointless for me to keep trying to kill our leader.   _

_ “Um,”  _ Stark said,  _ “is that the moral we’re coming away with?  Because I’m not really comfortable with that as a moral.”   _

_ I don’t care what you’re comfortable with,  _ Winter told him.  _ This is me.  Take it or leave it.   _

_ We’ll take it,  _ Buck said.  

_ As long as you don’t keep trying to kill Steve and people!  _ Jimmy said.

_ Or go off-mission in the middle of a fight,  _ the Soldier added.

_ Amen,  _ the Sergeant said.

_ What the hell is that get-up?  _ Bucky asked.   _ You look like a clown at a funeral. _

The Asset looked at its creation, reached out to touch him with the metal hand.  Left its hand resting on his shoulder for a moment.  

_ Fine,  _ said Winter.   _ Can we wake up now?   _

_ Only one way to find out,  _ Buck said, and opened the eyes.  


	21. Chapter 21

Opening the eyes was harder than it should be.  They strained, trying to force both eyes open, then just one.  It didn’t come much further than a sliver, but with that sight came consciousness, awareness of the rest of the body.  Which felt like it was floating weightless above a hospital bed.  The right hand was held fast in… Steve’s, Buck realized from the familiar weight and uncalloused strength of it.  Working hard with the eye managed to let in enough light to see Steve there, looking much the worse for wear, a brace and bandages covering his jaw, bruises everywhere.  His left hand rested in Dr. Grey’s, her left in Stark’s.  Across the room, Miss Romanov was watching, intent and alert the instant that the body started to stir.  Buck had a vague feeling he needed to apologize to her, but couldn’t at the moment remember why.

Dr. Grey opened her eyes.  “Welcome back,” she said.

“Thanks,” Buck tried to say, but the throat wasn’t cooperating.  A cup of water rose from a table next to the bed and floated over, tipping itself against his lips.   _ A future thing?  _ he wondered.  

_ She’s acting like it’s normal,  _ Bucky said,  _ so don’t make yourself look like a complete rube by making a fuss about it.   _

The lips parted, and water gently flowed from the cup into the mouth, slowly enough that the throat could swallow without choking.  Steve shook himself, opened his eyes and turned immediately to the watching Avengers.  He tried to say something, but it was muffled, and cut off almost immediately.  “He’s looking better,” Agent Romanov told him, and turned to them.  “You’re on a lot of painkillers.  You need to stay in bed for now.  Dr. Cho thinks you’ll recover completely.”  

Buck tried to nod the head, found it doable, he thought-- it felt floaty and distant, he couldn’t tell whether the head moved too little to be seen, or lolled all over the place.   _ Steve looks really bad!  _ Jimmy whimpered.   _ Winter, never EVER again! _

_ Obviously,  _ Winter said, dismissive.    

Stark opened his eyes, glance darting around the room for only a second before settling on Steve.  Steve seemed to sense him doing it, looked over and nodded encouragingly.   “Uh-huh,” Stark said.  “Use the damn text-to-speech program on your tablet, Cap, that’s what I gave it to you for.”  

Steve took his hand from Dr. Grey’s, tapped at a book-sized glass pane on the bedside table.  “You know what I meant,” it said in Steve’s voice, though the intonations were a little odd.  

“Whatever,” Stark said.  “So, how about you, Barnes-stormer?  Everyone present and accounted for in there?”

_ Yeah,  _ the Sergeant reported.  Buck passed it on.  “We’re fine.  Thanks.  Steve--”

“It’s okay,” Steve’s voice said from the tablet.  “We already talked about this, remember?  I forgive you.”  

“Thank you,” Buck said, and Bucky’s eye roll added a touch of acerbity to the voice, “but Steve, if you  _ ever  _ go make time with a dangerous assassin in the middle of the night all by yourself without even bringing your damn shield again, we’re gonna have words.”

Stark burst out laughing.  Even Miss Romanov twitched a smile.  “Got it,” Steve’s voice said from the tablet.  “That’s fair, Buck.”

“Damn straight,” Buck said, and the Soldier nodded approval.

Steve looked down at his tablet and typed for a while before it spoke.  “It’s not like there are a lot of dangerous assassins I’ve got my eye on, anyhow.”  

“One is enough,” the Soldier said, and then, at Bucky’s aggrieved internal sigh,  _ Oh, did that have double-meanings?  Sorry.  It’s true, though. _

Jimmy let the hand play in Steve’s, stroking the thumb gently over his knuckles.   _ We have to figure out what’s going on, though.  With him and Tony.  But it’s kind of confusing.  And embarrassing. _

_ Later,  _ the Sergeant ordered.   _ When we’re not high on pain-killers.   _ Jimmy shrugged and let the topic go, though not Steve’s hand.

Stark coughed.  “Anyway!” he said.  “So, you guys… what should we call the bunch of you together, by the way?  What’s your collective noun?”

The Sergeant led a hurried council.  “Barnes,” Buck said eventually.  “It’s not quite right, but at least it’s about the same amount of wrong for all of us.”

Stark nodded.  “It’s already plural, too, so that helps.”  He cocked his head.  “Does that make just one of you a single barne?”

Bucky glared.  “What, are you saying I’m full of horseshit?”

Steve choked.  “That’s a stable,” Stark teased back.  “If that's more accurate...”

“Stable?”  Buck took a moment to answer, looking inside.  Bucky was up front, ready to keep sparring, but Buck didn’t think it would be too hard to step up with him.  The Soldier was quietly at parade rest, keeping an eye on the room and the situation, but not needed in action at the moment and knowing it.  Jimmy held Steve’s hand, smiling quietly.  The Asset sat still, wondering, maybe someday to have more to say.  Winter lurked in the background, and Buck didn’t expect that dealing with him would ever be fun or comfortable, but he thought they  _ could  _ deal with him, and that was a good change.  And the Sergeant sat behind them all, watching over them.  He met Buck’s eye and sighed a deep sigh, gave him a thumbs-up.

“Yeah,” Buck said.  “Yeah, that seems about right.”      

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you all so much for reading, and for leaving kudos and comments! I know I don't answer every comment, or even most of them, but I read (and reread, and rereread) them all, usually with little delighted squees. I kind of want to answer them all, but I'm never sure how to balance the authorial voice-- "let's explore the character arcs and plot dynamics!" with my own reaction-- "eeeee! you read what I wrote and you LIKED it and you FELT things EEEEE!!!!" So thank you so much, I'm so glad to hear from you.
> 
> Secondly, I am a few thousand words/a few chapters into the sequel, which is tentatively titled "Six Barnes Who Had Trouble Talking About Relationships (and One Who Managed Anyway)." I cannot promise that I will finish and post it, as my life is full of things (like expecting the birth of my first kid), but I'm going to try hard. Because sharing this with you all has been really fun, and I'd love to keep doing it. :)


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